


Possession

by paxnirvana



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-13
Updated: 2010-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 18:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/115753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Possession Arc - Weiß Kreuz<br/>Still incomplete after all these years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Possession

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty boys. Pretty boy florists. Pretty boy florist assassins. Pretty boy florist assassins with lots of angst Me bad.

* * * * *
    
    
    And I would be the one  
    To hold you down  
    Kiss you so hard  
    I'll take your breath away, and after I'd  
    Wipe away the tears  
    Just close your eyes, dear
    
    'Possession' - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

The taste of it was almost punishment enough for the sin, but even that wasn't enough to stop him. Stale smoke and alcohol, most of all, and the foulness that those odors left too long on human breath after hours of indulgence. There were sometimes other flavors too; lipstick, vomit, sex.

But he just didn't care.

No, the taste alone couldn't deter him from the guilty pleasure. He had to do it. It had become the one thing he'd begun to look forward to more than any other in the endless, grinding agony that was his existence. Because outside those few stolen moments of guilty pleasure, that was all he did.

Exist. Exist and kill.

"Get up, damn you," Aya Fujimiya growled at the slumped form at the bottom of the stairs, angered by his thoughts. By the guilt, now, when all he wanted to do was savor the coming moments of pleasure. They came so rarely.

Below, the tousled head lifted with a jerk, and alcohol-blurred green eyes blinked at him in mild surprise. Just like they always did. It was a wonder the playboy could even find his way home at night. Yohji Kudoh was close to passing-out drunk. Again. Which made his breath catch in anticipation.

Aya constantly wondered how he managed it  how Yohji managed to keep from wrapping himself around a lamppost when returning from one of his benders. And how he managed to avoid being stopped by the police. The gods must watch over drunks and fools. Or why else would he be down here, leaving his warm bed behind to help his teammate up to his room in the middle of the night again.

Yohji waved at him cheerfully from within a fall of dark green silk, his elegant duster, now crumpled around him untidily. He'd started the evening with a sheer emerald shirt over his usual tight black crop top, but that had vanished. Lost to some woman, most likely. His dirty-blonde hair was tumbled around his face, the neat ponytail long gone. Tight black suede leather pants that hugged his long, sprawled legs completed his attire. The heavy metal-studded belt served only to accentuate the slimness of his hips; it certainly wasn't there to keep the pants up over the heeled boots. Sheer tension did that.

They were definitely look-at-me-want-me-touch-me-fuck-me clothes, as Yohji had proudly stated before he left earlier this evening.

Aya took the last few steps down to the bottom of the stairwell, glaring down at the tall man lying at his feet. Fighting the urgent, unwelcome response inside. This time, he thought angrily, he should leave him down here to sleep it off.

Then Yohji grinned up at him, blinking his eyes slowly and with great effort. Trying to focus. His mouth looked faintly swollen and there was a small reddish-purple mark on the tanned skin below his left ear that hadn't been there before. Apparently, he'd found a date for the evening. He'd been complaining loudly of the lack on his way out, earlier.

Aya's gaze fastened on that small mark. His pulse began to throb in his throat as he fought back the guilty heat that filled him. No. He was just lying to himself. He knew exactly why he was down here again.

"Oi, Ay-y-an! Did I wake you?" The pet name was drawn out in an annoyingly sing-song way. As if he didn't hate the very name itself enough. Of course, Yohji knew that. Or a sober one did, at least, and would have done it deliberately to anger him. But it was tough to tell if a drunken Yohji knew how offensive he was being. It was also difficult to stay angry with a smiling and cheerfully compliant Yohji.

Compliant and not likely to remember what happened to him right before he passed out. The heat in Aya rose higher, threatening to swamp his reason.

"Yes," he answered him shortly, bending over to catch a languidly waving arm near the elbow. He pulled the lanky form up with a jerk, cushioning that stumbling body against his own easily. Though he was tall, there wasn't a lot of bulk to Yohji. He was lean, graceful, and sleek, like a greyhound. Exotic and fragile appearing, but deceptively tough and quick. But not now. Now Yohji slumped over his shoulder heavily, all grace gone, a broad, silly grin on his face. He reeked of bar smoke, perfume and spent sex.

"Oh, good!" Aya felt the other man's breath stir the long hair by his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. Hands clasped around him, for balance, most likely, but they were Yohji's hands. Touching him.

Aya almost snarled in response, feeling his control fray that much further. "What?"

"Had a good evening wanted to share," Yohji said frowning and nodding with all the comical seriousness of the very drunk as he swayed against Aya. Aya wrapped an arm around his waist, even as Yohji draped a companionable arm over his shoulders. Being far more helpful than he usually was. "She was _they were_  fabulous. Damn, Aya, she had a room-mate. Two beautiful women! You should have been there"

"I don't think so," Aya said grimly, turning the stumbling figure toward the stairs. Gritting his teeth as he helped Yohji slowly up to the second floor. To his apartment. The climb silenced Yohji for a little while as he concentrated on putting his unsteady feet one in front of the other. But only for a little while.

"But two at a time! _Aie!_ And not one dog and one beauty either, Aya. Uh-uh, not for everyone's favorite Yohji Kudoh! No, they were both true beauties! So hot. You know, I watched them do each other for a while" he gave a leering grin, and tried to jostle Aya in a knowing way. The move almost sent them both plunging down the stairs, but Aya held firmly on to the handrail, glaring over at the smugly smiling man beside him as his arm tightened around his waist warningly.

"Shut up, Yohji. Climb the stairs." The words were little more than a tight snarl.

Emerald eyes glittered with pleased amusement for needling him, but a small frown touched those kiss-swollen lips. "Okay! Okay! Grouch."

No wonder his lips looked that way. He'd had _two_ women. Aya ground his teeth in bitter frustration.

They climbed in awkward silence again, until they reached the upper floor. Then Yohji pulled away, fumbling in his tight pants pocket for his keys. It looked to be quite a battle, and for an instant Aya was certain he'd have to retrieve the keys himself, but Yohji fished them out with a little crow of triumph and promptly dropped them on the floor. When he bent over to retrieve them, he tumbled to the ground, letting out a little bark of laughter as he did so. Yohji sat there, head in his hands, laughing softly to himself.

"Oh, hey, Aya  what am I doing down here?"

Disgusted and impatient, Aya leaned down, snatched up the keys and unlocked the door to Yohji's apartment. Tossing the keys on the low shelf just inside the door, he turned back to drag the snickering man to his feet once more.

Yohji crumpled against him again, draping himself over Aya like a limp puppet, strings cut. "Carry me?" he asked, blinking half-lidded eyes at Aya in a mock-pleading way.

"Stand up," Aya just growled, jostling him roughly as he half-dragged, half-carried him through the door anyway. In a hurry now to get Yohji inside his room. And get him down on the bed. Because that strange heat was with him, growing swiftly with each casual sway of Yohji's hips against his, every brush of his arms, even the sound of his harsh breathing. Stretching his control farther than he'd ever felt it tested before. His heart pounded in anticipation of the reward he would claim for this.

"Oh, no fun You're no _fun_ , Aya Lighten up!" Yohji muttered reproachfully, staggering out of Aya's grasp, hand flailing at the shelves as he passed sending something  books it sounded like  toppling to the floor. Ignoring the minor accident, Aya kicked the door shut behind them. The sound apparently startled Yohji, who spun away warily, the defensive pose spoiled by a decided sway as assassin's reflexes kicked in despite the layers of alcohol shrouding his mind. Yohji frowned around.

"Shit Just the door Where's my bed?" Yohji turned away from Aya after peering at him blearily for an instant. He staggered toward the bed. Aya followed.

Yohji tumbled across his bed onto his back, falling at an angle across the king-sized mattress that filled a large portion of the room. Yohji was tall. He needed the room to sleep, not just to roll around on with an endless parade of lovers. Though Yohji had certainly done plenty of that too. Aya was only glad that he'd apparently stopped that habit about six months ago. Omi's endless lectures on security risks finally seemed to have sunk in. Yohji slept in that bed alone, now. Yet as Aya recalled from his first night in Weiß, the bed was incredibly comfortable as well as large. Lots of room.

Aya stalked over to the bed. Stared down at the man sprawled across it. Yohji had one slender arm over his eyes despite the overall darkness of the room. It was lit only by the light from the streetlight shining through the open blinds in stark bars, but the bars of light fell across the bed at an angle, across Yohji's face. His sunglasses were long gone  maybe in the pocket of his silk duster, which had fallen open under him like a cloak, framing that lean form in lush forest-green. His shirt was cropped and skin-tight, of course, showing off his tanned abs and slim waist above the low-slung pants that just skimmed the top of his angular hip bones. His lips were parted as he sucked in several deep breaths. Obviously close to passing out.

Aya leaned over the bed. Feeling his knee rise to the mattress, his hands drop down to brace himself above the gasping man. His blood was roaring in his ears. The moment was here.

Yohji's mouth was already swollen. He'd never notice later and so the temptation to add to that was overwhelming. Just as the little bruise on that graceful neck taunted him. This was what he waited for. Aya's heart thundered in his chest, his own pulse practically deafening him.

This moment this _exact_ moment. When Yohji was struggling to keep awake, his weary body relaxing in his own bed, his mind whirling in the grip of alcohol, sated from an evening out... this was the forbidden moment that made the blood sing in Aya's veins. The moment that he lived for

Aya leaned down and closed his mouth over Yohji's. Firmly. On warm, moist heat. His lips pressed Yohji's open enough to enable his tongue to sweep inside. Tasting the things he expected, all the evidence of debauchery, but not caring as he felt Yohji's mouth fall open under his willingly. There was the ashy taste of cigarettes, of course, and the sour flavor of long-consumed alcohol, but it wasn't as strong as he expected. Yet he still didn't care. He only knew the heat of Yohji's mouth under his own, the wet wonder of those skilled lips responding to his.

This was his guilty secret. That he took payment for helping Yohji to bed. That he waited with something almost like eagerness on those nights Yohji went out for his own turn to come. For his chance when the other assassin's guard was down.

Yohji's arm fell away, back onto the bed. He moaned deep in his throat, the husky sound inciting Aya. And so he deepened the kiss, his tongue relentless as it stroked the other man's mouth, dueled with his tongue. Tasting something that was woman  or more than one, if his drunken bragging was true  and not Yohji or cigarettes or booze. Tasting sin.

Aya growled. Annoyed by the intrusion. Possessive feelings rose. He couldn't keep from sharing Yohji with cigarettes and booze, but women he'd rather not. Aya tore his mouth away, ignoring his own harsh breathing as he fastened his mouth urgently over the mark on Yohji's neck.

He would replace that unknown woman's mark with his own. And only he would know for certain that the mark had once been smaller, less distinct. But he would _know_.

A lean hand rose up, tangled in his hair as the long body arched up under him. Responded to the hard suction on sleek skin by pressing him closer. Yohji groaned, the sound low, pained. So wanton. The sound made Aya's heart pound faster, his pulse throb.

"Oh, god that feels so good." Aya felt the words under his lips. "Yes, oh, yes"

Lust, blinding and sharp raced through Aya. Months of stolen kisses. Months of tormenting himself with what he couldn't have. Yohji was a slut, seeking out sin and sex every few nights. Eager and responsive and willing, even now, after sating himself on two women. The hand in his hair was proof enough, holding him close as that lean body rubbed up against his, arching into Aya, writhing slowly against him with readily aroused heat.

He finally broke away from Yohji's neck, aware that the mark there was now an angry dark purple. And far larger than it had been. Looking nothing like the paltry mark the woman had left. He felt a flare of dangerously possessive pride at that.

Aya wound one hand in Yohji's hair, holding him in place as he bent back to his mouth. Rough, this time, he forced the other man's mouth open, muffling the impassioned groans his urgency produced. Devouring him for long, endless minutes, swallowing down desperate sound after desperate sound. He finally broke away to stare down at Yohji's flushed face, at the gold-tipped lashes lying fanned on tanned cheeks, closed lids protecting the emerald eyes from his intent stare as he sucked in air. The wide mouth was open, panting, a sheen of saliva on those swollen lips glinting in the striped light.

"Mine," he snarled. Weary of kisses alone. Wanting more. So much more...

"Yes" Yohji answered. The soft word was hissed, a response to stimuli, most likely, and not a true reply. But something in Aya snapped at the sound. He leaned forward, pressing his body down against Yohji's, his lips against the other man's, eyes drinking in every flutter of expression that crossed that handsome face.

"Yes, mine, Yohji," he repeated. Yohji just answered him with a groan, his body trembling. Aya's hand streaked down that lean chest; felt the hard nub of a nipple brush his palm, thrilling him. But he had another goal. The golden skin called him. His callused hand traced the ridged line of muscle slowly, brushing further and further down in slow sweeps. Drawing hisses from the man under him. Making him toss his head blindly, eyes still closed as he finally traced the shallow indentation of his belly button with a hard thumb.

There was a faint dusting of golden hair below that spot. A triangular patch that disappeared under the low, wide belt, into the tight pants now stretched even further by what was underneath. Aya's breath hissed in too as he ghosted his hand across that blood-hot surface to find the rigid length of flesh trapped beneath.

"God, yes!" Yohji groaned above him, hips surging up. Aya threw a leg across Yohji's thighs, trapping him, pressing him down into the bed as he stroked Yohji's hard flesh through the pants. A hoarse groan and white teeth buried in already-swollen lips were his reply.

Clumsy hands caught at his own, tugged impatiently at the heavy belt as lean hips ground back into the bed, rubbing Yohji's thighs against Aya's own. Rubbing Aya's own erection against one taut hip, making him groan once in response. He forced himself to stay quiet while savoring the soft mewling sounds of need Yohji made, his breath hitching in.

Aya watched, eyes narrowed, as Yohji finally freed himself from his pants with a hiss, the dark length of his erection jerking free of the leather and already weeping moisture from the broad tip. No underwear, of course. Not with leather. And after nearly a year of living in close proximity, Aya was well aware that Yohji was well-endowed. But he'd never seen him aroused before. He was impressive. Bigger than Aya himself, though he felt no shame in that. Instead he felt a fierce kind of possessiveness.

Aya wrapped his hand around Yohji's cock, pushing the other man's hand away. Yohji moaned wantonly at the touch.

"Yes like that god!" Yohji's head tipped back, throat exposed as Aya slowly, firmly stroked him from base to tip. Feeling the heat of him. The velvety-smooth texture. The broad strength. Over and over again, swiftly finding a rhythm that made Yohji's dark-blonde head toss back and forth, made his hips pulse up, surging against Aya's imprisoning thigh and rubbing against his erection, trapped between them.

Yohji. Lean and long and beautiful. Murmuring words in a husky voice perfect for these illicit actions done in the light-striped night on this obscenely big bed. "God you're strong, baby yes. like that oh, don't stop"

But he did. Leaving Yohji gasping, but only momentarily as he slid up his body and sealed his mouth over Yohji's once more, craving his taste, drinking down his cries of protest over the interruption. But it was an interruption with a purpose. Aya's hands were busy on the tight pants, trying to tug them off  his task made much easier when Yohji realized what he was doing.

Once the pants were down to those lean thighs, he caught Yohji's hands in his own, drawing them up above his head. Crossing the wrists, he pressed down on them once, staring down into heavy-lidded green eyes, dark with lust.

"Leave them there," he ordered shortly. A wicked smile curved those lush, almost bruised-looking lips. The eyes slid closed again, mouth parting.

"Whatever you say, baby," Yohji all but purred, moving his hips sinuously under Aya's.

Aya drew back, sliding down the bed, his mind lost in a haze of desire. He quickly removed Yohji's boots, then stripped his pants the rest of the way off. He stared down for a moment, entranced by the sight of Yohji, naked from the ribs down, legs sprawled open across the green silk duster spread beneath him. Clever hands stayed crossed obediently above his head, elegant wrists showing beyond the cuffs of the coat. Long hair had tumbled over his face, shadowing his eyes. He was lust personified  a pagan sacrifice to desire.

The fire of wanting, the heat of need had risen so high in him that Aya could barely control the trembling of his hands.

He needed Yohji.

The truth was almost shattering, breaking over Aya like a fever. He needed to possess him at last, after all this time stealing what he wanted from this lovely, wanton, debauched creature. He needed to possess him. Yet, he knew he could only take from Yohji because he was someone who knew him for what he was  a killer  and didn't shun him. Couldn't shun him, because he was the same; a killer too.

Aya's gaze flashed up, locked on the barely seen gleam of green. A knowing smile teased Yohji's mouth.

"Like what you see?" he asked, his voice a low purr.

Aya stared at him, something about his words finally penetrating the heavy aura of lust that had overcome him. Yohji shifted slowly on the bed, silk whispering against his flesh like the caress of a hand. Aya had to swallow hard, hands fisting on his own thighs for a moment to hide the tremble in them.

"Do you like what you see Aya?" Yohji asked again, green eyes catching and holding his suspicious gaze.

"You aren't drunk," Aya snapped, his own eyes flaring wide as the truth struck him. He reared back slightly in surprise. This was Yohji who knew women well and would have felt his own erection long ago. Yohji who lay there, exposed, open and asking him if he liked what he saw.

Yohji who now knew who had been touching him, kissing him.

But there was no change in that heated emerald gaze. No lessening of the slow grind of hips.

"Oh, I am, but not _that_ drunk. So don't leave me hanging now, Aya" Yohji said, lowering his hands, trailing them down over his own face, neck and down to his own chest. Pushing up the tight shirt to reveal his erect nipples. His cock still stood tall, shiny pre-come glistening on the tip. He wanted this yet he'd known, probably all along

Shamed anger warred with hot desire, winning briefly. Aya lunged forward, capturing Yohji's wrists. He wrenched the other man's arms back above his head, face pressed close, his breath washing over Yohji's mouth as he snarled at him.

"I told you to leave them there"

"God, yes, Aya!" Yohji cried, arching up against him, his cock trapped under Aya's thigh, pulsing against him, hot and hard.

"You slut" Aya glared, anger still high.

"Maybe, but I'm _your_ slut right now, Aya all yours" The husky, breathless words washed the anger away in a wave of pure lust. Aya bent down, sealing his mouth over Yohji's, stopping the words, swallowing them eagerly. He shifted his own hips, rubbing himself against Yohji, making them both groan deep in their throats.

Aya broke away, hands sliding down the silk-clad arms of the man beneath him until they rested on his heaving chest. He had buried his face in Yohji's neck, breathing hot against his skin, smelling the indefinable scent of Yohji  subtle cologne, cigarette smoke, leather, some exotic shampoo.

And he knew anger wasn't enough to stop him. He had to have him. Had to possess Yohji.

"I need to fuck you," Aya groaned against his skin, the words torn from him almost painfully. Lips brushing against that neck as they moved. Yohji shivered, head tilting back, swallowing hard. He could feel the flex of Yohji's muscles as he struggled to keep his arms above his head against his inclination. That he did so sent a surge of satisfaction through Aya, making his heart pound faster with anticipation.

The words he wanted came then, little more than an urgent gasp. "Then fuck me, Aya."

Aya rose up on his hands and knees, hovering over the lean body beneath. Gaze locked on parted lips for a moment until the mouth opened wider, the tongue darted out, wetting the lips again. Aya groaned, licking his own lips in preparation.

"Lube's in the nightstand." He saw that beautiful mouth form the words, understood them on some level, but couldn't tear himself away. He just held himself over Yohji, staring down at his bruised mouth, feeling the clench of Yohji's thighs around his own, the erratic brush of that straining erection against his own cloth-covered thigh. Lost in heated desire. So close.

"I'll get it" Yohji turned slightly, arching toward the head of the bed. His body pressed up against Aya's making him close his eyes and savor the sensation of Yohji's heat, Yohji's lean body willingly pressed against his own when he'd thought it would never happen save in stolen moments, secret caresses. Long fingers found the drawer of the nightstand and wrenched it open to fumble briefly inside. A fat tube was tossed on the bed beside Aya, thunking painfully into his wrist, breaking his reverie.

Aya moved with purpose then, rising up on his knees, straddling the other man's thighs. He picked up the tube, narrowed eyes catching and holding Yohji's gaze.

"I can't be gentle."

The green gaze never wavered. "Good."

That was all the reassurance he needed  and also the only chance he could give Yohji. He had to have him. With hands that trembled faintly, he yanked his own sweatpants down, flipping open the tube and squeezing a generous blob of clear lubricant onto his rigid flesh. It was faintly cool, but he barely noticed. It warmed as he spread it around, quickly coating his cock.

He shifted to the side, releasing one of Yohji's thighs from beneath his own, but only reaching back to catch the long leg under the knee and press it up toward Yohji's chest, opening him to him. He looked down, swallowing hard at the sight.

Lean, sleek buttocks. Straining thighs. Soft golden brown hair surrounding heavy balls under the still stiffly erect cock. A small hole beneath. So small. He looked up into Yohji's eyes, finding them locked on him, half-lidded and knowing as he watched him. Sultry, wanton, beautiful.

"Yes, that's it, Aya," Yohji groaned, licking his lips. "Do it."

And before he could think again, he was leaning against that raised thigh, guiding his own cock to that hidden place with a hand that shook ever so slightly. He pressed against that resisting ring of flesh, the way eased by the slick lubricant to a slow, even, inevitable glide, his gaze locked on the sight, watching as his cock disappeared relentlessly inside Yohji's body. He heard the deep, quick groan from above. Felt the sharply sucked in breath that released on a slow, shuddering sigh as he seated himself all the way inside Yohji.

Only then, when he was fully incased in incredibly tight heat, did he look up at his face.

The lean, golden body was arched up, impaled on Aya's, head tilted back, throat working with deep gasps. Yohji still held his hands up, but he'd locked them around the corner of the bed, skin of his hands gone white with strain. His arms trembled. His chest was flushed with a light sheen of sweat.

Yohji moved under him, adjusting the angle of penetration slightly. Aya bit back a harsh groan at the sensation, holding himself still with great effort until Yohji was ready. But the other man still kept his head back, the pose abandoned, but isolating. Aya wanted to see his eyes. Needed to see the heat that he felt reflected there. Knew he was probably causing Yohji some pain, but he needed to see that too

"Yohji."

"Shit god _uhnn_  Aya" Not really speech, more reaction.

"Look at me, Yohji." Tone insistent. Almost an order. He couldn't hold out much longer. He needed to _move_. Soon.

"Aya _ah, god_ "

"Look at me!" He snapped out the words and Yohji finally rolled his head down, sweat or tears running down his flushed face. The green eyes were practically black in the strips of light, the pupils dilated wide  either from pain or desire, it was hard to tell from the set of Yohji's face. But he could see him see every reaction to his shift see every flinch, every sigh, every wave of pleasure

Aya leaned forward then, moving in him. Tight bliss. He sucked in a breath and Yohji groaned deep, biting at his lip.

"I'm hurting you." Not a question. But he couldn't stop his hips from flexing, from driving himself further in. Into Yohji. The groan was deep and the lean body arched up as Yohji cried out, sliding him out a little. His automatic reaction was to press deeper again, hissing against the heat, the tightness.

"Yes. _Don't stop!_ "

Aya took that as permission, no matter how skewed, because he needed to. He began to thrust. Deep and smooth and steady, concentrating on the flex of his own hips, the power in his own thighs, the feel of Yohji sliding so hot and tight and slick over him, his mouth falling open on a soundless gasp. Dirty-blonde hair sticking to heated skin, arms flexing and pulling him up, his hard cock bouncing against his own and Aya's stomachs.

"Aya _unh_  yes, Aya _oh god, Aya_!!"

He moved one unsteady hand from Yohji's hip to grab his cock. Stroked it in time to his own deep thrusts as he listened to Yohji's moans turn to cries of desperate pleasure.

Beautiful. Unbelievably beautiful, the sight of Yohji in ecstasy. The idea came to him, suddenly and unwelcome, that he wasn't the first to see him this way. He wasn't the first, but he wanted to be the last. The only. He wanted to own this glory. Thrusting into lean, glorious bliss, Yohji's raised leg hooked around him, pulling him even closer. Satisfaction shot through him at the proof of pleasure. Aya wanted to have this all to himself forever forever

Below him Yohji was panting and groaning, twisting and sobbing. His hips rose to meet Aya's now, pulsing in time with the stroking of his cock. Suddenly, his eyes shot open and he jerked up with a hoarse shriek that might have been Aya's name as thick, hot fluid spurted over Aya's hand and across that taut stomach, staining the dark shirt with streaks of white.

Yohji clamped down on him when he came, shrieking and shivering and gasping. It was too much. Aya came too with a last heavy thrust, cry bitten off by clenched teeth as he pressed deep, releasing inside the other man's body.

He fell down over Yohji, twisting to the side as he released his leg. Yohji lowered it with a gasp, cradling Aya between his thighs. The motion made Aya slide out of him in a rush of hot slickness.

"Damn ouch," Yohji hissed, his arms coming down to hold Aya against him. "Stings" Aya just grunted, too lost in the remaining white haze of orgasm to be concerned.

Aya felt lips brush his forehead, press there. Felt the mouth turn up in a smile. Yohji's arms tightened around him, holding him close. He felt the wild beat of the heart under his cheek gradually slow, almost in time with his own. He could have slept for a few minutes, but he wasn't sure. He only knew he hadn't felt such a sense of peace in a long time. A very long time.

"Aya..." Yohji's voice was rough with spent passion and sated sin. Husky and deep and pleasing.

"Hn." Aya slid his arms around Yohji in return. Just in case Yohji was getting ideas about moving any time soon.

"...Never mind. Sleep."

Then as he drifted off, he thought he heard; "Bastard Next time _I'm_ on top"

\- - fin - -


	2. Silence

* * * * *
    
    
    Give me release - witness me  
    I am outside  
    Give me peace  
    Heaven holds a sense of wonder,  
    And I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides  
    In this white wave, I am sinking  
    In this silence...  
    In this white wave  
    In this silence... I believe
    
    'Silence' - Sarah McLachlan w/ Delerium

* * * * *

A large bundle of green cloth was dropped unceremoniously into his lap, startling him. He caught it with a quick grab before it could slide to the floor. Aya Fujimiya looked up sharply from his work at the back bench of the Koneko, a spray of fern clutched tightly in his free hand. The tall stool he sat on protested the aborted shift of weight with a soft shriek as he fought back the automatic urge to retaliate. Uncontrolled assassin reflexes in a retail shop could be a real detriment to business – no matter how much the pushy fool might deserve it.

But this interruption didn't come from some extremely rude customer, he realized as he finally recognized the slick fabric of Yohji's duster spilling over his lap. The one he'd worn last night. Aya turned slowly to face the presence he now sensed behind him.

Yohji was just shoving his sunglasses back up his nose with a long finger, a slight sneer curling his full mouth as he met Aya's glare over the dark lenses. Yohji's free hand was cocked on his hip in a faintly aggressive pose as he stared down at him. This was the first sight that Aya had caught of the other man all morning. He'd been watching for him but Yohji had managed to sneak up on him anyway.

Yohji's face was a little paler than normal, but his hair was clean and drawn back into a neat queue on his neck with just the usual loose bits falling around his face. He wore a subdued gold and cream patterned button-up shirt that might have been a size too small or just cut deliberately high to show off that flash of tanned skin at the waistline, given the low-slung mahogany-colored pants worn beneath it. The neatly turned down collar did nothing to hide the dark purplish-black mark high on his neck.

Aya found his gaze flicking briefly to that mark, a sense of deep satisfaction filling him at the sight of it. His mark. Yohji snorted and waved his hand languidly through the air toward him. He had an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and his lighter clutched in the gesturing hand.

"That needs to go to the dry cleaners today," the tall man said with a slight sniff, a faintly annoyed expression crossing his face before it faded into a small smirk. "You're paying."

"I am?" He raised a single forbidding brow at Yohji. Yohji just gave him a knowing smile in return, leaning closer until Aya could see the small lines of pain around Yohji's still faintly bloodshot eyes. Headache and hangover, of course. Had he taken anything for it? Eaten? And why the hell should Aya care?

"Yeah, _Ayan_ , you are… since you wouldn't move _off_ it last night," Yohji said, his voice a low, intimate purr that wouldn't carry beyond the confines of the workbench. The provocative words were almost lost in the background noise of the shop. No one could hear Yohji's words but him. Particularly not with Omi trying to hold a one-sided conversation with the partially deaf Mrs. Nakanishi on the far side of the shop.

Irritation flared at the deliberate use of the hated pet name, but Aya kept his expression carefully neutral. Yohji was annoyed with him. Of course, it might only be over the stained coat, but he somehow doubted that was it. There was the small matter of Aya having fucked the hell out of him while he was drunk last night. Something that Yohji might be very much regretting in the sobering light of day.

Green gaze met lavender; both sets of eyes narrowed speculatively. And Aya couldn't quite tell what that shadow was at the back of Yohji's eyes… annoyance, anger, anticipation? Yohji's lips parted after a moment and he looked about ready to speak again.

"Yohji-kun!" Omi called out suddenly, relief clear in his voice. "It's about time you got here… Nakanishi-san has been waiting for you all morning! Something about a centerpiece of pansies for her granddaughter's birthday party?"

"Ah, hai, hai," Yohji said in response, his lips curling up in a tight smile. They were still slightly swollen, Aya noted clinically, fighting the brief surge of his pulse. Yohji delayed turning for an instant to nod once more at the bundle in Aya's lap, a decided gleam in his eye. "Make sure to get the deluxe stain-removal treatment… that's pure silk, you know. Cost me 115,000 Yen straight from Paris."

Then Yohji whirled away, the cigarette miraculously vanishing into a breast pocket as he swept over to the slender old woman who was waiting for him, a fond smile on her face. Omi escaped their presence with a rolling of eyes behind the old woman's back. The boy normally got along quite well with the elders who frequented their shop, but Mrs. Nakanishi had a soft spot for Yohji and preferred to deal only with him. It made her rather testy with the rest of them.

"Ohayo, Nakanishi-san! You look extraordinarily lovely today. Is that a new handbag? Prada, isn't it?" Yohji spoke slightly louder than normal in deference to the woman's disability, making sure to face her directly and enunciate clearly. Which was probably why she enjoyed Yohji's presence so much. He made an effective effort to communicate with the proud old lady while still oozing charisma.

"Oh, Kudoh-san, you flatter me!" she said, reaching up to lay her thin hand on Yohji's cheek. "Why does an active young man like you know about women's things?" The tall man gathered her hand between his own, bending down to smile in her face.

"Because I am a connoisseur of all things beautiful, Nakanishi-san, and I can't help but notice anything that enhances your enchanting presence," he said, giving the old woman's hand a quick buss. She tittered like one of the school girls at the gesture, pulling her hand away with a nervous flutter and beaming up at Yohji like he was an angel.

Aya watched this display with ill-concealed irritation. Why did Yohji have to be so blatantly flirtatious? Even with an old woman like that, it annoyed Aya. No, more than annoyed him. It made him jealous. Envious. Not for what Yohji said and did, but for the focus and attention he showered on the old woman.

The kind of attention he never gave to Aya. Until last night… Last night when Yohji had laid back on that green fabric, heavy eyes watching him, arms crossed obediently above his head. Ready and willing for all that Aya chose to do…

Aya jerked to his feet, the slick coat held tight to his chest as he fought the suddenly urgent throb of his own blood, tried to deny the eager hitch in his breath.

"Deliveries," he spat at Omi as the boy turned toward him, a puzzled frown on his face. Aya stalked toward the storage cooler in the back of the shop, stripping off his apron as he went, the bundled coat shoved under his arm. He had to leave. Had to get some distance between himself and Yohji. Before he did something shocking and lost them good custom.

Because he didn't think Mrs. Nakanishi would ever forgive them if he hauled Yohji down on the floor and fucked him screaming right there in front of her and everyone.

"What? Now…? Oh… hai, Aya-kun," Omi said weakly from behind him as Aya stormed away

* * * * *

For months Yohji had thought he was dreaming a phantom lover. Vivid, heated fantasies of an elusive lover that lingered always just out of reach had filled his sweaty, restless mornings after every night he went out. Alarming, frustrating dreams, to be sure, but just dreams nonetheless. About red hair and violet eyes and hard lips that never smiled but that kissed with a passion he had seldom encountered before…

Aya.

He had thought he was seriously in danger of losing it, dreaming such things about his stoic teammate. Granted, Aya was absolutely fucking gorgeous – pale skin, deadly glares and all. Yohji had been willing to acknowledge that from the first moment he hauled the unconscious man up to his bed after Ken kicked the shit out of him as his little 'welcome wagon' to Weiß. Up to his own bed. Where Aya had woken surly and sullen and so very beautiful… It wasn't just anyone he'd grant that favor to, despite what the rest of them thought. Yohji Kudoh was far more discerning than that.

He had thought he was alone in his dreams and they had bothered him with their intensity and their persistence. But the simple fact that he was longing for one of his teammates disturbed him far more than the minor fact that Aya was male too. Sex was sex. The more the better… so why limit yourself to only half the population? While he hadn't made it a point to display his bisexuality – not when simple promiscuity raised the redhead's hackles so effectively, drove Ken to eye-rolling, spluttering fits and made little Omichitti blush furiously – Yohji had always swung both ways.

But then had come a night, more than a week ago, when he had stumbled home not _quite_ as blind drunk as usual. Much like last night. On that night he had been vastly surprised when Aya came down to meet him as he stumbled through the back door of the shop at some ungodly hour – surprised more by Aya's calm attitude than his presence. He had expected to be yelled at for waking him up and subjected to one of Aya's frosty 'my aren't you a disgrace' lectures. He had _not_ expected to be hoisted against Aya's shoulder with suspect care and hauled silently up to his room.

There had been a strangely perilous aura about Aya that night. A sense of anticipation. Eagerness, almost. It had caught at his always-boundless curiosity and kept him babbling drunken inanities as Aya helped him into his room and over to his bed.

Only his long experience with charming his way out of sticky situations on dates gone bad had enabled him to keep his cool when Aya had simply dropped down onto the bed after him, those strong swordsman's hands tangling in his hair, that normally cold mouth kissing him with both surprising familiarity and blatant hunger. It had sent his mind into a confused spin. Of course, he had still been pretty drunk and due to the breathless nature of heavy petting had soon passed out… By the sobering light of morning it would have been easy to dismiss the incident as just another product of his own perverse mind.

Except for one thing… This time there was evidence. Irrefutable evidence. Because this time he remembered that he had accidentally bitten his dream-Aya.

And the next morning, Aya's lip had been swollen ever so slightly. Even Ken had commented about it. While Aya had just brushed the small injury off in his usual terse way. But from that moment on, Yohji found himself paying more than normal attention to his stern teammate.

Because Aya had a secret.

Aya wanted him.

For the past week, he'd surreptitiously watched Aya. Circling. Calculating. Planning. Finally realizing, as he did so, just how much of the same treatment Aya gave him. It amazed him at how completely Aya had been able to conceal his attraction up to now. Alarmed him too. Because the desperate passion he had felt in Aya's kisses was incredible and bottling that up for too long… Well, self-denial wasn't something Yohji Kudoh felt the need to practice too often.

He had gone out only once during the ensuing week, but that time he had made sure to stay out all night. Coming home in the bright light of day to find a sour, angry Aya lurking in the shop – one who promptly delivered a blistering lecture on responsibility and duty… And all the while Yohji was hiding a grin of smug satisfaction to have his suspicions so easily confirmed.

Aya was jealous.

Aya Fujimiya was _fucking_ jealous.

So Yohji had plotted his next night out carefully. Last night. He had dressed blatantly for maximum sex appeal, making certain to show Aya his outfit before he left. Then he had breezed out into the night alone, complaining about a lack of a date. All of his actions designed solely to put longing ideas in Fujimiya's thick head.

It had been happy chance that he stumbled across an old clubbing friend early in the evening. Kimi was a lovely woman who was also irrevocably committed to her long-time lesbian love – yet she was up for a bit of spice in her life. And so she had brought Yohji back to her apartment, introduced him to her lover, and the two of them had petted and teased him until he thought he was going to explode. But out of respect for their relationship, he had done nothing more. Though they had graciously allowed him to _watch_ …

When he finally managed to tear himself away from their show, he had come home partially sobered, chivalrously frustrated and beyond ready for Aya's little performance.

And oh what a performance it had been. His ass _still_ stung. But in a good way. It wasn't often that he played the uke, but for Aya it had been almost frighteningly easy. He hadn't been fucked like that in ages and the whole experience had been mind-blowingly satisfying. Right up until the part where he woke up – barely an hour later – all alone…

It had been unexpectedly sobering.

He'd expected something like that, at least. Aya had kept his little obsession secret for months now. One night of indulgence wouldn't be enough to bring him out into the open, to get him to admit to human feeling, human need. Aya was a notoriously stubborn bastard. Except Aya wasn't considering Yohji Kudoh, Master of Seduction's determination to get exactly what he wanted… and he'd been dreaming rather vividly about Aya's own pale, tightly rounded ass for most of the morning.

Yohji shot a sly glance toward the garage at the rear of the shop where Aya had just stormed off with the dubious excuse of deliveries to make. Running away, Yohji knew, and he felt rather smug about provoking the normally impassive redhead to that drastic step.

He turned his full attention back on Mrs. Nakanishi with a broad smile. The old woman smiled back at him, her sharp gaze passing over his face and only briefly hesitating on his neck. On the rather blatant mark Aya had left there. Which was exactly why he hadn't bothered to try covering it up.

"So very pleased with yourself you are this morning, Kudoh-san," the old woman said with a gently knowing smile of her own. "Perhaps there is a new, special person in your life that has made you so?" She fished discreetly, but she still fished. Yohji laughed, bowing over her hand again as he led her to the register to pay for the cheerful centerpiece he had created for her granddaughter's party.

"Not a new one at all, Nakanishi-san," he said with a secretive smile, letting his eyes twinkle merrily at her over his lowered sunglasses. "Just one that's been right under my nose for quite a while now…"

* * * * *

It had been a tactical error, retreat. Aya realized that now. He should have stayed in the shop. Forced himself to watch Yohji flirt and fawn over the customers as usual. Used his disgust over the other man's loose behavior to remind himself of all the reasons Yohji irritated him. All the reasons he should hate him. Should not want him… could not want him… but he did.

Because on the delivery route, alone in the little truck, his mind wandered back time and again to memories of the night before. To the sheen of Yohji's parted lips in the stark light. To the heat of his erection in his hand. To the slick, tight bliss of his body.

Furious with his own lack of control, his inability to direct his own thoughts, Aya lingered over the deliveries. Deliberately taking too much time at each until it was nearly time for the shop to close. His shift had been over hours before, but he hadn't wanted to return. His own hesitation angered him, unaccustomedly wild emotions swirling inside his head.

He wanted Yohji. Had wanted him for a long time. And last night, his wanting had been satisfied. But not completely. It had left him feeling strangely empty, waking from a light doze to find Yohji sprawled beside him, snoring gently. Reeking of alcohol and sex, half-dressed and covered with sticky stains. Looking utterly debauched and yet still achingly beautiful.

He had wanted him again. Wanted to see that lean form come alive with need again; make him arch and cry his name again. He wanted to hear those sounds forever. But guilt and the awareness of sin, his familiar companions, had surged up rabid and sharp. Driving him out of Yohji's bed and back to his own with the knowledge that he'd taken complete advantage of Yohji's drunken state – had gone far beyond the boundaries of trust given a teammate. Because despite Yohji's awareness of his identity, he still couldn't be certain that Yohji had truly understood what was happening. Or who he was with.

And that memory almost sent him into sheer rage. He didn't want to be one of many. He didn't want to have to wait for his chances. He wanted to be the only one. To see the knowledge of that accepted every time he looked into those emerald green eyes…

It was already well after closing when he drove the tiny truck back into the garage behind the flower shop. Both cars were there; Ken's motorcycle was not. Aya climbed out of the truck, slamming the flimsy door with barely contained anger behind him. The sound echoed loudly in the silence of the garage. Echoed and changed into low laughter.

He turned, fists clenching at his sides, to find the object of his fixation leaning beside the door to the shop, a cigarette burning between long fingers. The waning sun filled the garage with muted light, falling down in dust-marked shafts from the high windows that lined the western wall. Until his eyes adjusted, it was barely enough to show him Yohji's pursed lips, his amused expression. For once, the ever-present sunglasses were absent.

"Running doesn't solve anything," Yohji said, faint laughter still coloring his tone. "You're gonna have to deal with me sooner or later."

Aya glared at him, drawing the remaining shards of his icy control about him. "I did not _run_. I was working."

"Huh, right," Yohji said, raising the cigarette to his mouth with deliberation. Emerald eyes narrowed and glittered as he opened his mouth, placing the pale cylinder against his lips, closing them around it and sucking in slowly. The end glowed brightly in the dimness. Aya felt his heart thud once heavily, sickly in his chest before increasing in pace. Transfixed, he watched Yohji breathe in the smoke from his cigarette, roll it around his mouth, and then send it back out in a thick, steady stream before he lowered his hand to his side again. He seemed to be content to just watch Aya in return.

The silence stretched. It had been impossible to tell, this morning, if Yohji was truly angry about what had happened or not. He seemed calm enough now, but then, Aya had seen that exact same expression on Yohji's face when the man was splashed with blood and gore, bodies scattered at his feet. Assassins generally made good poker players. The ability to divorce yourself from reaction was essential. Which just made Yohji's blatantly sensuous nature all the more attractive…

"Well, I know running when I see it, Aya." The low laugh came again, tempered now with sultry heat. "What, are you frightened of me now?" Aya didn't dignify that idiotic statement with an answer, but his gaze narrowed dangerously. Yohji pressed recklessly on. "The way you scampered out of here this morning I thought Schwartz was on your tail…"

The mocking comment snapped his already thin patience. Words he would rather not have uttered spilled from his stiff lips. "I left before I threw you down over the counter and fucked you right in front of our teammates and customers."

Dark blonde brows rose at that, amusement crinkling knowing eyes as a slight smile touched those sleek lips. "What makes you think I'd _let_ you, Aya? I'm not drunk anymore…"

Aya could only stare at Yohji, the heat of frustration, of rage lapping at his icy exterior. Crumbling it. The stolen kisses hadn't proved to be enough. The long nights of waiting for those moments, futile. He'd tasted his true desire last night. Had sought to slake the craving, but instead it seemed he had only fed it. Yet possession was ashes without surrender…

Yohji straightened up from the wall, moving with languid grace toward Aya. Moving like he did when he was stalking a target; deliberate, measured, patient. The wire worked best from the shadows, from darkness, but Yohji was walking toward him through squares of golden-brown light that set his hair briefly aglow.

The smile on those lips was pure sin now. Knowing. Mocking. Filled with wicked promise. Yohji dropped his cigarette to the concrete floor, crushing it out carelessly beneath his boot as he glanced at Aya sidelong from behind strands of dusty-blonde hair.

"…So maybe it would have been you bent over the counter instead, Aya, ne?"

The idea shocked through Aya. Stopped his rage, his thoughts cold. And Yohji read his shock and laughed again, louder, the sound a rich ripple of amusement on the still air.

"Oh, hadn't thought of that yet, huh? Hadn't even considered that I might want to fuck you?" Yohji came to a stop a few paces away, partially framed in a fall of light. His eyes gleamed with dangerous promise. The pale shirt practically disappeared in the back light, leaving the lean body silhouetted to perfection. He shook his head in mock disapproval. "Aya, Aya, Aya… that's so narrow-minded of you." He lifted his head sharply, captured Aya's gaze again. "Does that mean you won't be my uke then?"

Aya's head jerked back at the question as if Yohji had struck him, but the honey-smooth voice continued without regard for his reaction, the other man advancing toward him one slow step at a time now. Heavy-lidded eyes fixed on his.

"I've been dreaming about you all day, you know. Wanting to see your skin in the daylight. Wanting to touch that sweet, hard body of yours with my hands… and my mouth. Wanting to find out how hot _your_ mouth is when it's wrapped around my cock… Would you do that for me, Aya? Would you suck me off?"

The scaldingly explicit words swathed his mind with heat, confusing him. He hadn't expected… hadn't realized. Yohji exhausted and pliant and drunk was far different from this sultry, knowing man who watched him with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He'd seen him flirt before, but had never seen him actually in pursuit. The difference was overwhelming. Even more so because he had never expected to have it focused on _him_. Aya shook his head and blinked his eyes slowly, trying to shake loose some of the enveloping desire. His body shuddered with deep tremors.

"No…" The denial was a reflex, his expectations upended into chaos. Yohji wanted him too?

"Really? Too bad… I'll have to think of something else to do with your mouth then." Yohji gave a mock pout of disappointment, but the heat was still heavy in his eyes. Aya saw a brief flash of tongue wetting those lips as they parted, the sight sending a sharp pang of longing through him and he realized, in an unfamiliar burst of panic, that he was in far over his head. Yet he couldn't look away. Even knowing the danger, protective anger wouldn't come. He was drowning in the heat in Yohji's eyes.

Because all the longing, all the fire that blazed inside of him was unfocused. He wanted mostly without direction. Too long spent holding others away gave him few ways to express his need other than through violence and subterfuge. But Yohji… Yohji knew what he wanted… what was possible... what to ask for... what to demand. Aya's blood raced, his breath grew short. But that would mean…

Yohji was watching him, standing closer now. A little more than an arm's length away. And he could already feel the heat radiating from the other man… or was that him? Was he the one burning up with desire?

"Will you be my uke, Aya?"

This time he didn't flinch from the question, but he still couldn't answer. Yohji stepped out of the final patch of light into the shadows that held Aya. A hand rose and cupped his face, curving around his jaw, the heavily callused thumb brushing over his lips lightly. Aya shuddered at the touch. Voiceless. Need was a white-hot flame, searing him as he stared into emerald eyes. He wanted…

He didn't remember moving, but suddenly he was against that tall form, arms locked around slender shoulders, mouths meeting roughly. He forced his tongue into Yohji's mouth, urgently seeking his daytime flavors. Found them as smoke and coffee and oranges.

Long hands slid into his hair, steadied his head, and then eased the brutal assault of his mouth with determined strength. A groan slipped from him as Yohji slowly pried them apart. More low sounds – desperate sounds – could be heard in the silence of the garage. Were they coming from _him_? But not even embarrassment could overcome the heat inside of him.

"Easy… slow… hush…" Reality was an indistinct thing, coming to him in flashes. Murmured words in that liquid voice. A soft fall of smoke-scented hair around his own face as Yohji pressed their foreheads together. The burning feel of Yohji's hand around the back of his neck. "Aya… we've time. I made Ken take Omi to a movie. God, the chibi about fainted when I offered to pay. Are we really so stingy with each other?"

"I want to… I…I want…" He barely recognized his own voice, hoarse and raw, while Yohji's was still its familiar smooth purr. Aya kept his eyes closed against his own need. Where had his pride gone? Was he begging? Already?

"Oh, I know, baby," Yohji chuckled softly. The endearment made Aya's eyes flare open briefly with anger. Anger that faded as lean hips pulsed against his, pressing heat to heat. "I can feel you… but it'll be even better without all the clothes."

Aya's hands clenched tightly, holding on. He let his head fall back against the supporting hand on his neck, his mouth falling open on a silent gasp. He heard a hissed-in breath from the man beside him and then more liquid words emerged ensnaring him ever tighter in their spell.

"God, Aya! You look so good… That's right, baby… Relax for me… I'll take care of you."

The one hand stayed on his neck, cradling him, while the other skimmed down his chest. Finding the edge of his plain sweater with ease and sliding beneath. The first touch of knowing fingers to his bare flesh made him groan, his chin lifting higher. It was something he'd wanted for too long – Yohji's touch. As if he knew it, Yohji stepped closer, pressing their bodies tightly together from waist to knee, one of his own knees sliding between Aya's thighs like a brand.

"Shit… shit… god, you're hot, Aya. So responsive… I knew there was fire underneath… oh, that's right, baby…" The hand moved up his chest, found a peaked nipple and rolled it between eager fingers for an instant. Aya moaned, biting at his lip as stark pleasure streaked from that small point throughout his body, like electricity, the sensation hovering on the border of pain.

"Good – you like that. Some guys don't. I'm glad…" Then his sweater was pulled roughly up and bunched under his arms as Yohji bent down and fastened his mouth on that same nipple, sucking on it. Aya arched up with a sharp gasp, hands clutching at Yohji's head, his hair as tremors shook his body. His cock, already hard and aching, surged in his pants as his hips moved helplessly, rubbing against Yohji's encroaching thigh.

They were moving then, Yohji turning them, backing him up, all while his mouth was fastened to Aya's chest. The awkward motion shifted his cock against Yohji's thigh over and over again, teasing, taunting him. His hands clutched tighter at Yohji, his breath a gasping hiss, attention focused on the electric feel of his mouth. He felt something hard and cool against his lower back, stopping them and Yohji bent him back against it, pressing him down. Hazily he realized it was his own car. The trunk of his Porsche.

Yohji broke away from his torment of Aya's nipple long enough to grab his sweater and strip it off over his head with smooth economy. Then hands dropped back down to his chest, framing his rib cage as he bent back down to the other nipple, dirty-blonde hair falling around them both. Aya groaned, his hands locked on Yohji's shoulders. This time teeth nipped at his flesh and he shuddered at the glorious pain-bright sensation.

Yohji's mouth slowly drifted across his skin toward his neck, lips caressing, teeth grazing him with careful skill. With something solid to brace him against, clever hands were able to join the exploration. Cupping his sides, tracing his muscles, stroking down his body with long, possessive sweeps that made him gasp and shudder. All while lean hips surged slowly, rhythmically against his own. Aya let his head and shoulders fall all the way back against the car, the motion arching his lower body up almost painfully into Yohji's. Even that pressure not quite enough to assuage the burning need for closeness.

"Jesus, Aya…" The words were murmured against his neck, below his ear. Where his pulse thundered. "When you let go… you _really_ let go…"

"Shut up," he heard himself say. "Kiss me."

Yohji's mouth closed over his after the barest hesitation. Moist heat. Velvet caress of tongue. A sense of connection. Aya's hands slid under Yohji's shirt, clutching at sleek skin with near desperation. Until, abruptly, it wasn't enough. He shoved at Yohji, struggling under his weight a moment until he shifted the other man to the side, breaking the kiss reluctantly. Then he was yanking at his own belt, his slacks. Stripping them away and Yohji's hands were helping him. Like last night. He kicked off his shoes with the pants, his stocking feet slipping slightly on the concrete floor until Yohji dropped down and pulled them off.

He looked down at the golden-brown head bent to the task and bit at his lower lip to keep from crying out his need. He wanted… he didn't know precisely… but he wanted something from the other man… Yohji's hands skimmed slowly up his legs. Then he hooked his hands behind his knees as he stood up, his head lifting at the same time as he shoved Aya all the way up onto the trunk. Green eyes blazed down at him. His wide mouth twisted in a smirk as he leaned over him once more.

"I should have guessed you were the bikini brief type."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Aya gasped, faintly annoyed.

"Nothing… they don't hide much, is all…" Then a knowing hand stroked up his thigh to the nearly painful bulge under his briefs. Closed over it as Aya arched into the touch eagerly, moaning softly. A thumb swept across the exposed and weeping tip of his erection and lightning struck behind his eyes, the sensation enhanced by anticipation.

"Yohji!"

He wrapped his legs around Yohji's hips, pulling him closer. Ignoring the pleased chuckle for the breath-stealing feel of Yohji's hand first pushing his briefs aside then stroking his cock firmly and surely. Yohji's other hand slid up his body, along his neck to his face. Fingers teased at his lips and he turned toward them automatically, aching for contact. His lips parted and took them in. He tasted the salty-sharp flavor of Yohji's skin. Sucked eagerly on the two fingers Yohji gave him, rolling his tongue around them, darting it in between in exploration.

"Aya… _god_ … open your eyes, baby…"

He hadn't even realized they were closed, but he let them flutter slowly open, lips stretched around Yohji's fingers, mind lost in the fire Yohji's other hand was creating down below with each slow, deliberate stroke. He looked into Yohji's narrowed eyes, saw the hungry gleam there.

"Oh, you look incredible… Suck those fingers, Aya… Get them nice and wet…"

He drew Yohji's fingers deeper into his mouth in response. Lips holding them, soft and caressing, tongue laving them carefully. After a long minute, Yohji pulled them away, eyes glittering at the soft protesting sound he made. The hand moving on his cock speeded up for an instant, making him groan and toss his head back, eyes falling closed again. He felt Yohji shifting against him, felt the other hand draw his briefs further out of the way. Then a warm hand brushed gently across his balls, curling into the warmth below. Damp fingers brushed the skin below, sliding slowly back toward his ass.

He tensed, faintly alarmed by the touch in a previously overlooked area, knowing what it meant, but the stroking of his cock felt too good for more protest than that.

"That's right, easy. It's okay, Aya. I'll take care of you… Make you feel good…"

Something teased at his opening, making him shiver and shudder. Because it did feel good. Shockingly good despite its unfamiliarity. Yohji's damp finger circled him slowly, firmly, all while his other hand stroked his cock. Aya shuddered and groaned in reaction. Then Yohji paused in his strokes, making Aya surge up in disappointment for a moment only to collapse back down on the trunk of the car, panting desperately. Suddenly the finger was pressing relentlessly inside of him, making him clutch at Yohji's shoulders wildly in response to the new sensation. Impaling. Hard. Stretching. Reminding him of what he'd so enjoyed doing to Yohji last night but had never fully considered having done to himself...

Yohji groaned too, his head falling down against Aya's chest. "God, you're tight. You've never done this before, have you?"

The finger moved in him, making him gasp. Yohji's breath was hot against his skin. Eager. Hungry. Demanding an honest response. "N-no."

"Then you probably don't really know about… this…" Yohji's finger had been moving deeper, and now he turned his hand slightly, crooking his finger inside, seeking something… With a choked shout, Aya jerked up closing his arms tight around Yohji. Stunned. Panting. The finger moved against something inside him again sending that same electric-bright pleasure shooting through him again, his hips moving in one long roll toward Yohji as a long gasping cry left him. "That's the magic spot, all right, isn't it? Do you like that?" They were laughing, teasing words that made him want to curse, but he had no breath for it.

Another deft touch and Aya arched up high again, head tilting back, neck bared in ecstasy. Bewildered by the power of it. A pleased chuckle rumbled the chest bowed over his. "Oh, yes. Now do you see, Aya? The rewards of being uke… Imagine my cock hitting that over and over again…"

His mind blanked for a moment, imagining just that, then, to his horror, the touch vanished – the finger sliding out of him carefully. The loss dropped him back down limply onto the trunk where he sucked in short, almost sobbing, breaths. The hand on his cock remained, but stilled, simply holding him. He forced his heavy eyes open, looking up into Yohji's wickedly grinning face.

"I'm going to fuck you, Aya," he announced, eyes dark in the shadows but glittering faintly with dangerous promise as the last of the sun faded away. "Got any problems with that?"

"Hurry up."

"I guess not!" Yohji reared up, head tilting back as he gave a genuine laugh at his growled words, clever hands releasing his cock and moving to cup Aya's hips, sliding over his skin possessively. And he was so damn sexy despite his amusement that it was easy to stifle the impulse to murder him – because there was the promise of fulfillment there too …

Then Yohji reached around and pulled something out of his back pocket. A fat tube fell with a solid ringing smack onto the sloped glass of the rear window beside him, sliding down to rest against his arm. Lubricant. The same tube. From the drawer beside Yohji's bed. "Good preparation is essential."

"Bastard," Aya hissed, annoyed equally by the delay as well as Yohji's smug expression. The imprecation just drew more laughter as hands skimmed his briefs off his legs, tossing them aside. He was naked now. Naked and sprawled across the trunk of his own car… And he'd thought Yohji debauched last night…

"Careful, Aya. I'm one who's going to be inside that virgin ass of yours soon…"

Aya lunged up, locking his hands around Yohji's head and pulling them together. Lips met hard before melting against each other after an instant's resistance. Tongues tangling, sliding. Moist heat overwhelmed him and the complex, sometimes foul taste of Yohji that he was fast coming to realize was something he couldn't live without. The kiss went on, desperate, consuming, until Aya was forced to break away to breathe. Yohji was gasping as well, but he took the opportunity to push Aya back down on the trunk, his hand firm in the center of his chest. He went without resistance.

The trunk of the car was faintly cool beneath him, but he didn't care. He lay back, looking up at Yohji from heavy-lidded eyes and lifted his hands up above his own head, crossing them at the wrists, mimicking the position he'd put Yohji in last night. The flare of green eyes told him Yohji realized it… and appreciated it. Aya suddenly felt exposed, self-conscious. As if that small move, done instinctively, had been a kind of admission…

Yohji leaned over him, one hand braced on the trunk near Aya's hip, the other hand working at his belt as his gaze raked over Aya's body. Lips parted. Soft, persuasive words emerged.

"Put your feet up on the trunk too."

Aya complied slowly, the move making him feel even more exposed, arms outstretched, feet braced on the edge of the trunk. Yohji's eyes gleamed. "Spread your knees wider…"

Aya's breath caught at the liquid heat in Yohji's eyes as he stared down at him. At his rigid, aching cock. At his exposed scrotum. At the flinching hole beneath.

He felt bereft then. Adrift. Yohji wasn't touching him any more, just looking, and without that contact doubt began to creep in. Was this right? Did he want this? Shouldn't it be Yohji spread on the car like this instead of him? But he couldn't make himself move, pinned by the heat in Yohji's gaze and his own aching need. Aya heard the jingle as Yohji's hip-hugging belt fell to the floor, then the rustle as he unfastened his pants. Mild reassurance came in the harshness of Yohji's breathing, the hiss as he eased himself carefully out of the confining leather.

Aya looked down his own body, between his raised thighs to see the hard length of Yohji's erection beyond. He groaned at the sight, letting his head fall back on the trunk. Yohji was as big as he remembered and brief, visceral fear raced through him, his pulse thundering in his ears. How could he take all that? The fear was followed by a surprising eagerness. It might hurt… no, it _probably_ would… but he wanted to try… wanted to feel that inside him against the place Yohji had shown him a glimpse of already. Paradise… ecstasy… oblivion…

Yohji reached across him, hand brushing his taut stomach. Aya bit at his lower lip to keep back a frustrated cry as he was only reaching for the tube of lubricant. He closed his eyes. Heard the cap flip open and the wet sound of the slippery stuff being squeezed out. A considerable amount from the sound. Anticipation mixed with fear was shortening his breath. His lungs ached because he couldn't draw deeply enough.

He could hear the distinct sounds of lube being spread on flesh; wet, sloppy, messy. He braced himself, expecting a rush to the end, then. Expecting Yohji to slam home inside him as he had done to him last night. Waited for it…

Instead, he was shocked into a low cry and a startled twitch when the first place Yohji touched was the taut curve of his ass, just below his thigh, where the big muscle gave way to the marginally softer flesh of his buttocks. Stretched now by the way he held his legs up, but still discernable. Yohji stroked that place several times, letting his hand spread over the hard muscle then ghost down to the join, tracing the scant dip of flesh over and over again until Aya began to relax, to enjoy sensation again as the traces of panic drained away.

"God, this is the best part of the body… male or female… the place where your ass hits your leg. The line is so subtle… like directions to heaven…" Yohji's voice was husky, almost reverent as he stroked Aya's skin with a steady hand. He could hear wet sounds too, but didn't feel any moisture. Finally, hazily he made the connection that Yohji was stroking himself as he stroked Aya's ass. His eyes cracked open and he stared, entranced.

Yohji still had his shirt on, to Aya's dismay, but it was cut short – as most of Yohji's shirts were – and so didn't really obscure the tantalizing view of Yohji's hand stroking his own cock as it jutted out from the wide open fly of his dark pants, glistening and drenched with lube. The sounds hit Aya harder then, making him moan slightly. His hands clenched into fists but he kept them above his head, pressing down on the metal beneath him to keep them there. His thighs trembled in the effort to keep them balanced open as well when all he wanted to do was wrap them around Yohji's hips and pull their bodies tightly together.

"Yohji…" His name a whispered plea, edged with frustrated anger.

"I know, Aya…"

Yohji released his own cock, and both hands were on his thighs then, one cool with lubricant. Slick fingers traced along him to the tender skin of his groin, making him shiver slightly as air struck the lube left behind. He arched up into the touch, groaning softly with need. Lifting himself toward Yohji. Wanting contact. Pressure. _Something_. His cock twitched against his own belly, pre-come oozing from the tip in a glistening line.

"Yohji…"

"Easy, baby, trust me." His voice was low, husky, laced with gentle amusement. "I know what I'm doing here."

Frustration and need made him snap, "Don't call me that."

Low laughter again as the slick hand cupped his balls briefly, the other hand moving up to rest on his belly and press his hips back down, the side of the wrist brushing Aya's erection. Teasing him. Aya groaned, lost in wanting. His arms trembled, his hips surged against Yohji's hold.

"I'll call you whatever I want, baby. Relax. You're not quite ready for me yet…"

Then the slick fingers were against his ass, pressing in firmly. Two of them. Making him gasp and groan in mingled satisfaction and shock. It didn't hurt, exactly, but neither did it feel good – until Yohji turned his hand, spreading more lube around, the slippery sensation of unaccustomed fullness sending a shiver down Aya's spine. Before he could quite adjust, Yohji grabbed his cock in the other hand, stroking him in time with the slow slide of fingers in and out of his body. Aya arched up, shuddering, caught between the more familiar stimulation of his cock and the new feeling of fullness. Awareness narrowed to electric points of contact. He cried out, head thrashing between his raised arms.

"Oh, beautiful… lay back down… yeah, relax, Aya… that's it," Yohji said, voice blurring with a rising edge. "God, you're an amazing sight." There was a growing harshness in his voice. As if the sight and feel of Aya impaled on his fingers was breaking down his control.

While Aya was struggling to keep hold of what control he had left. The slick motion inside of him, the slow, deliberate exploration of his body, and the sprawled, exposed position all combined to generate a sensual heat and near-blinding fire in his mind that left him short of breath and sheened with sweat. Each pumping movement felt planned, deliberate – there was no ragged half-motion, no awkward pauses. Yohji was skilled. Knowing. Considerate. A partner who would not plunge into satisfaction alone. As on missions, he could trust Yohji to watch out for him… the idea coaxed him to relax even as it drove him up, enticing him to surrender to it. To surrender to Yohji.

"Yohji…" The name spilled from his lips, low and husky. It drew the green gaze to his. Opened heavy lids for a moment in a hot flare of appreciation. The fingers withdrew from his body slowly, making him part his lips to release a short cry of disappointment, crossed wrists trembling as he struggled not to reach out and pull him back. His body throbbed and tingled, on the brink of something more than simple orgasm. There was more here, waiting; he knew it. He wanted it with a power that was starting to alarm him. He _wanted_ …

"What you said… Last night, Aya…" The words were soft as Yohji stepped closer to him, his body brushing against Aya's raised legs as he bent over him. Aya felt a new slick heat between his legs. A hand guided what had to be a cock to his slicked, prepared opening. His eyes stayed open, fixed on Yohji's face while the other man looked down between them, concentrating. The green gaze flickered up to his then. Aya gasped, caught, as there was no pause, just a slow, hard push. Yohji held his gaze as he impaled him. To his dazed surprise, the pain was minimal; there, but tangled and lost in the tingling fire of being filled. Yet Aya suddenly felt as if something was being pulled out of him by that glittering, knowing gaze even as he was being possessed. Fear stirred, doubt crept into his mind. Did he _know_ what he wanted…?

"Ah! You're _tight_!" Yohji leaned over him, letting the motion drive him further into Aya, crushing him down on the trunk of the car. Aya groaned, deep and long, as his body finally began to protest the unfamiliar invasion even as his mind spun into a dark haze of confusion.

"Last night you said, 'mine', Aya. Did you mean it?"

He was aware of the question, but couldn't answer as his body tensed, unconsciously attempting to reject this intruder despite the heated desire he still felt. Yohji held immobile in him, braced on his elbows over him, the lean form tall enough that he could just reach Aya's mouth with his own.

"Shh, easy, baby. Aya, _relax_. It'll be so much better then… Let me show you." Words feathered against his lips, almost lost in the harsh, pained pants coming from his own mouth. His body tried to arch away, rejecting this surrender even as his heart reached for it; his mind in a whirl of surprised pain and stalled desire, tormented by Yohji's words and his own rising fears. _What_ had he wanted…?

"I _can't_ … I… _Yohji_!" The name a sharp cry as his tormentor lowered himself further, pressing their bodies together, trapping his erection between them as he framed Aya's face with his hands, wrists lying over Aya's straining arms, stilling the involuntary thrashing of his head.

"Yes, you can, Aya-love," Yohji said gently, hooded green eyes staring into his own, strength and something frightening in their depths… something he couldn't look at any more. Aya closed his eyes. "You can and you will. Because you said 'mine' last night… and this is most definitely part of 'mine', baby."

Skilled lips closed over his, stealing any protest he might have made. Sending his mind whirling again; desire and guilt and fear and longing tangling up in pain and need. Flashes of perception struck Aya, blindingly fast, overwhelming him. The car was cold and uncomfortable under him. His hips ached subtly from being spread apart by Yohji's. His hands were going numb from holding them up. And his body… his body was on fire from the hard, motionless length of Yohji buried deep inside of him.

He was lying naked on the narrow trunk of his own car. Vulnerable.

Impaled. Covered. Silenced.

This was surrender. This was possession. _This was…_

Yohji lay over him like a blanket, warm mouth working at his. Filling him with his tongue, coaxing, stroking. Aya's arms trembled. He felt a cold trickle by his ear and realized suddenly that he was crying. Silent tears. His breath hitched deep in his throat and Yohji pulled away, stroking his damp hair back gently, looking down at him with a tenderness he'd never seen before. Had never expected. But seeing it…

"It's okay, Aya," Yohji whispered. "I'll take care of you."

 _…what he wanted._

"Yes." He pressed up against Yohji's hands, bringing his shaking arms down to wind them tightly around Yohji's shoulders as his body relaxed under Yohji's. Pain fading before bliss as he wrapped his legs around Yohji as well, his hips rolling back and sending Yohji even deeper inside of him. Accepting him. Feeling only a kind of satisfied mindlessness as he held the golden body of his lover tightly to him. A welcome blankness of mind that allowed the desire to flare up white-hot and urgent.

"God!" Yohji groaned deeply, his eyes flaring wide. Too experienced, too knowing not to understand what the sudden slackness of Aya's body meant. He leaned back, lifting off Aya's chest, gaining both leverage and breathing room even as he gasped out, "You won't regret it, Aya-love. I promise you."

"Fuck me, Yohji. _Now_. Do it _now_." His voice unrecognizable. A thing of raw desire.

"Whatever you say, baby." Then Yohji began to move. Hard. Deep. Hands braced beside Aya's chest, Aya's hands clutching his biceps. Cock striking something inside over and over again that made Aya's mind and body flare with savage pleasure each time. His legs wrapped tighter around Yohji as he was first rocked and then – as Yohji's confidence in his acceptance, his surrender grew – pounded against the trunk of his car. He could hear the metal flex and bend under them, sense the sway of the shocks in time with the strength of Yohji's thrusts. But all he could feel was the thick, hard length of Yohji sliding in and out of his body. Slick and hot and unerring. Striking deep at that kernel of ecstasy. Striking deep into his vulnerabilities.

Striking deep into his heart.

And he shattered then. Arching up, a broken cry torn from him as he pulled himself against Yohji. Rising up even as his head fell back, throat aching, pulse pounding. Eyes wide but seeing nothing. Pleasure such as he'd never experienced before fountaining through him, centered on Yohji impossibly deep inside him, on Yohji cradling him close, on Yohji crooning to him soothingly even as his cock spurted wildly between them. Coating them both in his hot, sticky fluid.

With an answering guttural cry, Yohji convulsed over him, driving deep one last time, lean hips sending another flaring explosion of pleasure through him. Yohji's hand slapped down on the slanted glass beside them, bracing them both as he swayed dangerously on his feet, body shuddering, mouth open.

Aya would have fallen back then, limp and spent, on the trunk, but Yohji's arm cradled him and held him up for a moment. Just held him, trembling faintly. Then Yohji laid him down carefully even as his cock pulsed deep inside Aya's body, the involuntary movement sending little glittering whirls of after-shocks though sated nerves. Yohji groaned, but Aya could barely manage that, he was so drained.

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Aya," his lover gasped above him. Aya managed to pry one eye open at the sound of his name. Looked into brilliant green eyes that were still glazed with the aftermath of what they'd done together. He wanted to reach up and drag that clever mouth down to his. Wanted to taste Yohji again but he was still trying to make certain that his heart hadn't exploded and all his limbs worked. The kiss would have to wait.

"Impossible," he breathed, the faintest smile touching his lips.

"What?"

"Jesus _is_ Christ. How can He fuck Himself?"

"What the hell? Aya?" Yohji almost goggled at him, his astonishment plain. "Did you just make a joke? _Now?!_ "

He let the unaccustomed smile bloom on his face. Raised shockingly strengthless hands and tangled them in Yohji's dirty-blond hair. "I'm feeling rather – what was that ugly American song? – 'closer to God' at the moment."

Yohji smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Gotta love Nine Inch Nails."

"They're modest too, I see." Aya felt curiously light. Relaxed in a way he hadn't even managed last night when he'd fucked Yohji. Right now he couldn't even imagine letting the other man move away from him, much less leave his bed. Except they weren't on a bed. They had just fucked like animals on the trunk of his car. And his back and legs were starting to inform him of that fact rather strenuously.

Yohji shifted them, sagging down against the Porsche's rear window, trapping Aya's thigh rather awkwardly against the glass, but managing to keep them together for a few moments longer despite his rapidly softening state. Aya curled against his chest with a sigh, tucking his head under Yohji's chin.

"Um, Aya?" Something in Yohji's tone made him tense slightly. Guilt. "Promise you won't kill me?" Fingers threaded into his hair, combing soothingly through it behind his ear for a moment before tilting his face up. Green eyes flickered away from his sleepy gaze.

"Why?" he asked with only the faintest hint of suspicion in his voice. He still felt too relaxed, too sated to draw the full strength of his usual hostility around him. The evils of the world and their sin-filled lives would bring it crashing back soon enough. For now he wanted to enjoy the moment. The warmth. The connection.

"Just promise, huh?"

The lips on his were warm and persuasive. It was blatant manipulation, but he didn't care. So when Yohji finally drew away he all but purred, "All right."

Yohji eyed him for a moment longer. Warily amused. "I think we… uh… dented your trunk?'

" _What_?!"

"Now Aya, you promised!"

"SHI-NE!!"

\- - fin - -


	3. Hold On

* * * * *
    
    
    So now you're sleeping peaceful I lie awake and pray  
    That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll see another day  
    And we will praise it and love the light that brings a smile across your face...  
    Hold on...  
    Hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell
    
    Hold On - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Lean, lithe and quick, Aya twisted under him pulling them apart. Groaning in dismay, Yohji barely managed to keep his hand on Aya's upper arm as he was shoved back hard against the rear window of the car.

"Damn it!" Aya snarled, looking down at the definite dip in the formerly pristine surface of his Porsche's trunk. All the soft relaxation and near sleepiness of moments ago was gone.

Naked and still damp with the sweat of their activity, Aya was gorgeous in his fury. Violet eyes flashing dangerously, red hair hanging down raggedly over his face, lean chest and belly splattered with the result of his own release; Aya glared at Yohji savagely.

"Kudoh…" His name was a low growl issuing from between those lovely reddened lips. Yohji wanted to lean over and kiss the other man but guessed he'd probably get bitten for his presumption.

"You promised, Aya," Yohji said again, keeping his face as neutral as possible. Even though he wanted very badly to smile in triumph. He'd just thoroughly fucked Aya Fujimiya after all. Made the man all but scream in ecstasy. Who wouldn't be smug after that? Aya wrenched his arm out of Yohji's grasp. Even with him being all pissy now?

"You dented my car!"

" _I_ did? I seem to remember some very willing participation on your part, Fujimiya," Yohji said as Aya rolled away and slid off the side of the car. He landed on the floor, staggering, his knees buckling under him. Yohji grabbed for him, catching his upper arm again and holding him up. Aya's eyes went wide briefly in astonishment at his body's apparent betrayal as he hung against the side of the car, Yohji's grasp the only thing keeping him from slumping to the ground. What did the man expect? He'd just been fucked for the first time in his life. And on the back of a car, for Chrissake.

"Easy there, baby. Give yourself a chance," Yohji murmured gently. He still had his feet on the floor and he drew Aya up, holding that pale body against his. He still had his pants and shirt on, for that matter. Unlike Aya who was completely, gloriously naked. Yohji snaked his other arm around Aya, his hand brushing down the lean back and cupping one tight, rounded buttock. Beautiful. An instant of stillness, of mutual absorption, then, snarling, Aya shoved away from him again to stand firmly on his own two feet. Equilibrium restored, apparently.

" _Don't call me that_." Aya glared at him from under tumbled bangs. Yohji didn't bother to hide his smirk then. God, Aya was incredibly sexy when he was mad. Which was most of the time. How had he missed this for so long? Well, he hadn't, actually – but _touching_ was so much better than simply _looking_. "You're paying for the repairs."

"Half." Yohji laughed, caught up in watching the flash of Aya's eyes.

"All of it," Aya snarled back. Then he leaned down and snatched his slacks off the garage floor, stepping into them and doing them shut with quick, angry motions. Yohji reached for him again with a smile, shaking his head in wry amusement.

"Be reasonable, Aya…" The red-head jerked out of his reach, the glare joined by a curled lip and a rudely turned shoulder.

"You're paying, Kudoh." Aya's stubborn insistence was beginning to irritate him. Yohji narrowed his eyes in return, his smile fading away.

"Shit. So much for the afterglow," he muttered, stepping away from the car and stumbling over his discarded belt in the process. Aya threw him another savage glare as he gathered up the rest of his scattered clothes. Yohji picked the long belt off the floor by the end, letting it dangle from his hand and making no move at all to do up his own pants as he watched Aya.

Angry violet eyes raked him with a contemptuous look, but Aya was flushed and his gaze lingered a little bit too long at his crotch.

"You look like a whore," the red-head spat suddenly.

Yohji fought back a hot flash of anger, staring back at Aya with a smile that he knew wasn't kind on his lips. Ah. Aya on the attack was an Aya whose mind had started to wallow in guilt again. Sin and unworthiness. Things that Yohji carried more than his share of… but not about this. Yet he had to keep his wits now or someone was going to get hurt. And he didn't want it to be him… or Aya. It was a fine, fine line to walk.

"Got too close, did I?" Yohji said softly, watching Aya's face carefully. The violet eyes disappeared suddenly behind red bangs, only a near-feral shine visible. Hiding. "I'll say I did… You let me climb right inside you, Aya – you liked it and you want me to do it again – but now that you've stopped _feeling_ and started _thinking_ it's scaring you shitless, ne?"

The flush abruptly vanished from Aya's face, along with all expression. His hands fisted at his sides and Yohji could see a faint trembling sweep over his body. Fury. Any second now Aya was going to start screaming. Or try to kill him. It was a good thing the swordsman's katana was safely upstairs, because he was already betting on the second choice.

True to prediction, Aya flung his bundled clothes down on the floor with a snarl and lunged for Yohji, hands coming for his throat. Yohji dodged, the belt in his hands already lashing out. In his anger, Aya hadn't been paying proper attention. Yohji with anything long and thin in his hands was as good as armed to kill.

The buckle end of the belt wound securely around Aya's right arm and Yohji yanked on it, drawing the arm across his body and half spinning Aya around. But Aya had speed and skill of his own and he moved with the turn, a bare foot already coming for Yohji's face as he pivoted on his captured arm.

Fully expecting the counter-attack, Yohji dropped low, pulling hard on the belt and spoiling Aya's balance – and his aim. The swordsman tumbled forward, hitting the concrete floor and rolling on his shoulder even as Yohji sprang back up. With the advantage of height, Yohji hauled up hard on the captured arm and wrapped the rest of the belt around Aya's other arm as it came flying toward his face. He jerked his head away, but took a glancing blow to the collar bone for it, hissing at the sting of knuckles on bone. He had Aya partially trapped now, both wrists bound by supple leather, body half-lying on the floor. He kept one hand firm on the leather between Aya's hands, holding the makeshift manacles in place.

But he wouldn't make the mistake of assuming Aya was done and the swordsman immediately proved him right by getting his lower leg under him with shocking speed and bringing the other up straight toward Yohji's groin in a blatant attempt to emasculate him. This was getting dangerous fast. But then, Aya was always dangerous in a fight. Because he seldom knew when to quit.

Gritting his teeth, Yohji twisted away from the blow, letting Aya's foot hit him in the hip instead. The force of the kick sent Aya's leg up under his left arm, making him grunt at the impact, but he clamped his arm down hard, winding it around Aya's shin and trapping the offending leg against him. Aya gave a snarl of outrage. Dropping down to one knee, Yohji rolled Aya onto his back on the floor using the leverage of his bound hands and captured leg, pressing his arms against Aya's chest and pinning him in place.

Leaning most of his weight on the smaller man and staring down into narrowed eyes he snapped, "Stop it, damn you. We _aren't_ doing this!"

Aya glared up at him, teeth clenched. "Let me go." He ground out the words, low and venomous.

"So you can kill me? Fuck no," Yohji answered grimly. "I didn't start this fight, Aya…"

"Let me go!" Louder, something at the edge of it; eyes darkening. A hard jerk at captured arms.

"No. Not until I'm ready… and you calm the fuck down!"

Aya bucked under him, trying to throw him off and Yohji let him try, holding on grimly. He had one leg trapped, Aya's bound hands held against his chest and nearly his full weight on him. Aya was completely pinned, body bent awkwardly. His eyes were wild and his teeth bared; Yohji could feel his frantic pulse, hear his gasping breaths as he struggled to breathe under Yohji's weight.

"Or is this what you want, Aya? Do you want me to hurt you now? Force you? Make it rape? Do you really think that'll make the guilt go away?" He practically shouted the words at the red-head, glaring down at him.

"Get off!" Aya's eyes were rolling now, whites showing. He was sweating, breath hissing wildly through his teeth, body jerking with frantic, uncoordinated effort beneath him. Rage to panic in an instant. Yohji stared down at him in wide-eyed concern.

"Aya! Hey! Calm _down_ … damn it… _Aya_!"

There was no comprehension in the other man's eyes, in his face, just blank horror. Yohji rolled quickly away from him, waiting to release his hands until the last second, wary of retaliation. But as soon as his weight was gone, Aya rolled the opposite direction, tearing at the belt around his wrists, panting wildly. He stumbled awkwardly to his feet, plunging toward the door. Yohji had rolled automatically to a crouch, ready to defend himself, aware that Aya wasn't quite in his right mind and startled by that fact. This wasn't the usual berserker rage at all. This was something else… something perilous… Yohji stayed frozen in place, shocked, alarmed and confused.

Aya vanished out the door, careening wildly off the doorframe as he did so, making Yohji wince for the bruises he'd probably have the next day.

"Fuck!" he spat when the other man was gone, half panicked himself now. Aya was most likely going for his katana. For whatever reason, he'd turned their brief struggle into something serious. Life and death. In mere minutes he'd probably be back here to separate Yohji from his life – or something equally important. Rising to his feet, he hurriedly tucked himself into his pants, doing up the buttons with shaking hands. At least he'd die fully clothed – and make it tougher for Aya to aim properly. He had his watch but the idea of using the wire on an unprotected Aya was abhorrent. Yohji ran suddenly shaking hands through his hair, stripping it away from his face as he frowned deeply at the half-open door. What the hell had sent Aya over the edge? He'd had him pinned before…

He cocked his head, listening intently. There were no sounds coming from the inner hall. He hadn't heard Aya go up the stairs to the apartments above.

Walking swiftly across the garage, Yohji pulled the door all the way open and looked into the short hallway beyond warily.

He had left the main light on in the kitchen at the far end of the hall and now it sent a garish glow spilling over the frozen form at the base of the stairs. Aya. Standing with hands braced on either side of the stairwell that led up to the apartments, his head hanging down toward his chest. Trembling. Badly enough that it was visible even from a few feet away.

Yohji stepped through the door, closing it behind him. He moved just far enough into the hall to give himself room to maneuver, if necessary, but not close enough to make Aya uneasy… he hoped. The silence stretched for uncounted minutes. As he watched, Aya's trembling gradually eased until he was simply standing, head bowed.

"Wanna tell me what that was all about?" Yohji finally asked, his voice soft. He asked though he had his suspicions.

Aya's head turned slightly, not all the way, but definitely toward him rather than away.

"No." Low, almost inaudible.

"I'm coming over, Aya," he said, pausing a moment before suiting actions to words to give Aya a chance to react or protest. Rigid silence was his reply. He walked slowly toward the other man and wasn't too surprised when Aya dropped his hands away from the walls, turning his body to face him and retreating by a few slow, shuffling steps until his back was against the far wall. He kept his face averted, bangs completely concealing his eyes.

Yohji stopped in front of Aya, looking down at him somberly. He lifted a hand toward him cautiously, making certain to make no quick motions at all. Not wanting to alarm or startle him. Gentle fingers brushed crimson bangs back only to find that Aya's eyes were closed, lashes lying like bloody shadows on pale cheeks. His hand lingered, holding the hair back. It was soft and thick. Faintly cool to the touch.

After several breathless moments, Aya tilted his face up, moving slowly until his head rested back against the wall, the motion making Yohji's fingers trail down the side of his face to his cheek. Lips parted slightly. Eyelids fluttered but didn't open.

"Aya," Yohji said, entranced. He was beautiful. Like a marble sculpture. Pale and tragic. Strangely fragile seeming, though he had seen demonstrated over and over again on missions just how tough the other man truly was. Physically.

"You don't have to hurt me." The voice was steady, calm. As rational as Aya ever sounded.

"No," Yohji breathed. "I don't."

Violet eyes opened. Filled with seething emotion, they stared into Yohji's. There were no more words then. Yohji bent and covered Aya's mouth with his, hand frozen on his jaw. His eyes slid closed again. Lips parted under his as Aya's mouth opened and let him in. He kissed him for an eternity, gently, tenderly. Then he drew away, letting his hand trail slowly down, fingertip brushing across the bottom lip of the mouth he'd just kissed before it fell away completely. He watched the faint flickers of reaction cross that still face; longing, acceptance, desire.

He reached out with both hands, cupping Aya's neck and bracing his thumbs against the underside of his jaw. Holding his head in place. Dark red lashes lifted slightly and Yohji knew he was watching him, but he stayed still, no more than a brief tremor running through his body in response to the touch, the vulnerability of the pose. Surrender. Total and complete. And Yohji felt a surge of triumph wash through him. It was exhilarating, intoxicating. Better than booze any day. A higher rush even than the guilty instant of a kill.

Aya was his. Utterly. It was as if the anger, the struggle, the panicked flight had been a last protest. A last vestige of stubborn pride warring against overwhelming need. But he'd stopped here. Waited for Yohji to come to him.

"But you know I could, don't you?" He couldn't resist the dangerous words. They were more of a tease than a true threat. He didn't want to hurt Aya. But he knew they could both hurt each other badly now… in so many ways.

Aya shuddered again. The violet eyes gleamed under hooded lids but didn't waver. Yohji's thumbs began a gentle stroking, smoothing the skin of Aya's neck over the hard ridge of his windpipe and his wildly throbbing pulse.

"And you'll still let me touch you, won't you?"

"Yes." The single low word hit him like the impact of a blow. Daunting in the recoil. Igniting lust in a hot surge that made his cock harden instantly in his pants. Aching as if he hadn't just finished with Aya only minutes ago. The heat of the moment surpassed only when Aya opened his eyes fully, meeting his gaze, an answering desire blazing there.

Yohji groaned and bent down again, mouth closing hard over Aya's. Tongue surging into his mouth, stroking, pressing deep, chasing Aya's own tongue around his mouth. Catching it and sucking on it. Aya groaned and Yohji swallowed the sound eagerly.

He pulled back, hands sliding down to Aya's shoulders and squeezing briefly before releasing him completely and stepping away. Slightly calmer violet eyes watched him from under tumbled bangs.

"Upstairs. I want you in your own bed."

Aya hesitated a moment, then turned and took two steps up the stairs. Stopped halfway up a third when he realized Yohji wasn't following and looked down over his shoulder at him, a wary question in his eyes. The pale, muscular body was limned with light in sharp contrast to the dark slacks. Improbable yet incredible hair reflecting redly. His stance elegant and poised. He was a thing of true beauty, Aya. Yohji had to swallow hard to find his voice, fighting something he didn't want to acknowledge.

"Go on. I'll be up right after you."

Aya turned half toward him, gaze fixed on him. Violet eyes burned him like fire, smoldering with the heat of desire, lingering danger, an unnamed fear.

"I'm going to clean up the mess," Yohji managed hoarsely, fighting to keep from lunging up and bowling Aya over on the stairs and kissing him senseless. Kissing him until he realized there was no use fighting this thing between them… none at all. He cleared his throat instead. "Unless you want Ken and Omi to wonder what the hell happened to you in the garage…"

"I'll help you."

"Stubborn. Go up." Aya just shook his head and came back down toward him, shuttered gaze still fixed on him. He'd seen the remnants of panic there, and a need that still burned hot. Yohji sighed and waited, snaking an arm across the other man's chest when he dropped level with him and stopping him. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, he leaned to the side and brushed his lips against the side of Aya's head. Said with careful amusement, "Gonna be that way, are you?"

Aya looked sidelong at him, violet eyes narrowed. There was pride there now too. A subtle warning that there was still choice involved, that he was still Aya Fujimiya, still Weiß's leader. Yohji smiled back at him, but concealed most of his delight. Because broken toys didn't please him at all. Prickly, difficult, sexy ones did.

"The sooner we finish…"

"Okay, okay…"

* * * * *

Aya was moving in a haze, drained after the storm of emotion that had raged through him, a bitter battle waged with instinct that had left behind self-loathing, terror, panic.

Lying under Yohji, enraged but helpless with hands bound, body pinned he had wanted only to destroy the other man for showing him his own vulnerability. His own weakness to human need. Had wanted to kill him and erase it from existence. But he knew it could never be gone. Because he had already surrendered. Already given in to the need to be wanted and cherished and pleasured…

Even as he had imagined the feel of Yohji's blood pouring hot and final over him he had been horrified and repulsed by the killing urge. And he had to escape him… had to go away from him before it consumed him, tore his mind and heart apart in a last sin-filled rage.

He had stopped himself on the stairs. Knowing he was going for his katana – going for the instrument of Yohji's death. Longing for it and despising it. Struggling with the two sides of himself, the fear and the desire, lost for what had seemed an endless, tortured eternity in the internal conflict.

It was he who had wanted Yohji. He who had lusted after him in secret for all the months since he had first awakened in his bed, confused and damaged and irrevocably committed to his life of sin in Weiß after abandoning Crashers to more completely pursue his revenge. He who had stolen from the other man caresses in the dark rather than admit to need. Until finally, in his carelessness – or was it hope? – Yohji had discovered his secret. And answered him with a passion that had shocked him. Intrigued him. Terrified him. Because to accept the passion would be to make himself vulnerable to loss again. Yet caught up in lust, in physical need, he had accepted it… surrendered to it… to Yohji.

Images of Aya-chan, silent and pale in her hospital bed had filled his mind. Overlaid with images of Yohji, lean body bloody and forever stilled, the teasing eyes dulled in death. Aya-chan, innocence felled by the incomprehensible machinations of greedy men. Yohji, a hunter of darkness and a willing target for harm. And he hadn't been certain which image, which risk tormented him more…

It was already too late to fight… Far too late…

Then Yohji had come to him again, silent, waiting, aware. Yohji, embodiment of his human need who understood the deadly urges that existed inside him and dared come to him anyway. Who reached out to him by his very presence and forced him to choose once more. Passion and need and the surrender they demanded had won over the assassin's bloody instincts. But Aya had not dared be parted from Yohji for fear the killing instinct might rise again.

They had both gone back to the garage, gathered up all evidence of their recklessness and were now returning to the stairs, Yohji following him. A presence he was aware of like the beat of his own heart despite the haze in his mind.

"Your room," Yohji prompted him when he paused on the first floor. And he was too fresh from the struggle to want to go to his own room. Where his sword waited.

He looked back at Yohji, hesitating despite the vaguely foolish feeling that came with standing on the landing less than half-dressed with his shoes tucked under his arm. Green eyes glittered at him knowingly, the handsome face calm. Expectant.

"In your bed, Aya."

"Yohji…"

"It'll be okay, Aya."

He went then, accepting the punishment but dreading the temptation, the reminder of sin that would come at first sight of the sheathed blade.

Reaching his room, he unlocked the door. Stepped inside without turning on the light and went automatically to deposit his shed clothing in the laundry basket, to set his shoes neatly down in the closet beside the others. He heard Yohji enter behind him and close the door. Locking it.

Footsteps crossed the room. The small lamp beside the bed clicked on, throwing a subdued wash of light around him and Yohji's shadow across the wall beside him. Aya stood frozen in front of the closet door, back to the room. Not wanting to turn.

"You might as well take off the rest." The words were low, amused. He heard the bed frame creak as Yohji sat on it. "Damn, Aya, has this been soaked in water or something? This futon's hard as a rock!"

He became aware of the little things, then. The dresser with the katana on its lacquer stand was behind him, next to the door. Easily seen from the bed. The skin of his stomach itched faintly from dried, flaking semen. His hands throbbed from being clenched into fists. He could smell the musk of Yohji's cologne clinging to him. His lower body ached in a vague way that made him conscious of the muscles of his anus and buttocks as never before in his life.

After taking a deep, unsteady breath Aya turned enough to face the narrow bed, careful to go just far enough so as not to catch a glimpse of the plain black sheath or the sharkskin hilt wrapped in stained cord. Yohji was watching him, elbows propped on his knees. He held the tube of lubricant in his long, clever hands, turning it idly.

"Your bed sucks, Aya."

"Then we should use yours," he said with studied calm, grasping at the opportunity to leave his room. Yohji just laughed softly, green eyes dark in the warm light with wicked knowledge.

"Oh, no, you're not getting out of it that easily." Yohji gave the tube a little flip, catching it neatly and placing it on Aya's bedside table. Then he stood up, hands going to the buttons of his shirt. He removed it quickly, nothing deliberately sexy about his motions at all, but Aya's gaze was still riveted on him. Devouring golden skin as it was revealed. Watching the easy ripple of lean muscle. Skimming over the black tattoo that marked the shoulder nearest him. The largest English word in the center screamed out at him. _Sin._

He carefully blanked it from his thoughts, focusing on watching Yohji instead. The shirt was dropped on the chair beside the bed. Yohji pried off his boots, one after the other, managing to balance gracefully as he did so. Then nimble hands went to the low slung mahogany-colored pants and stripped them away just as efficiently. Aya heard his own breath hiss in. Yohji was hard again, his large cock jutting out from its nest of soft golden brown curls proudly.

"Are you sore, Aya?" Yohji asked, dirty-blond hair falling around his face as he tilted his head slightly to the side, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he unselfconsciously rested his hands on his hips.

"No."

"Liar," Yohji said with a soft laugh, reaching up to brush his own hair back. Lean and confident. Glowing golden in the gentle light. "But you want me to fuck you again anyway, don't you?"

"Yes." And he did. Because then, lost in Yohji, lost in the blinding pleasure he brought him he could forget about the sword and everything it meant.

Lips pursed, a frown crossed the handsome face but he could see a mischievous gleam in those eye. "So says the recent virgin. Oh, I shouldn't…"

"I'm not afraid of pain."

Yohji's expression dropped into careful neutrality. Calm, still, eyes flat and piercing. With a faint tremor, Aya recognized his working face. His assassin's face.

The cool gaze raked Aya. "There's some pain in what we do, but I won't hurt you needlessly. I won't have _suffering_ in our bed, Aya. We have enough of that elsewhere." He frowned thoughtfully then, his gaze flickering to the side. "But I think there's something else you're afraid of…"

Yohji walked past him, padding silently across the bare floor. Moving to the dresser.

"Don't…" Aya breathed, not turning. Knowing without looking what Yohji was doing.

He heard the soft click of the scabbard as it was lifted out of the frame. His heart began to pound in his chest and he fought the urge to spin and snatch it out of Yohji's hands. Such a bloody thing should not be in Yohji's hands… should not contaminate him… it was Aya's to bear…

"Don't… please…"

"Aya, it's just a sword."

"Put it back."

Yohji walked closer to him, moved up behind him. At first he though it was the sheathed katana brushing against him and cringed before he could stop himself – but the long black shape of it appeared at the edge of his vision and he realized it was Yohji's cock that was pressing hard against the lowest part of his back.

"Shh, easy," Yohji said, wrapping one arm securely around him from behind, spreading his palm over Aya's stomach and pressing him back into him. Bringing warmth and heat to his chill. Aya's gaze was locked on the sword, watching it as if it were something that might attack him on its own.

Yohji leaned over him, his lips brushing against Aya's ear. "It isn't the sword you're afraid of, Aya," he said quietly. "It's yourself…" Yohji moved then, dipping against him and rising slowly up. The motion rolled his whole body against Aya, hard and warm and sleek. Aya groaned in response, shivering as he felt his own cock begin to stir. The only impediment to full pleasure being the barrier of his slacks and the sight of the sheathed katana held in Yohji's other hand.

Warm lips nipped the tender skin behind his ear. Breath fluttered his hair. A tongue laved the outside edge of his ear, occasionally slipping further in and teasing him. His head rolled toward Yohji, even as his eyes strained to keep the sheathed sword in sight.

"Oh, yes, baby, you'd rather think about me and what I'm doing, wouldn't you?" The hand on his stomach slid down, across the ridges of his tense belly to the tab of his slacks. Yohji deftly slipped them open one-handed even as Aya's hands rose to help. Yohji let him slide them off over his hips himself, but only because his seeking hand had found something else more interesting; Aya's rapidly stiffening cock.

He groaned at the first firm stroke, feeling blood rush into his cock almost painfully, swelling it in Yohji's hand to the accompaniment of quiet words of praise. The liquid sounds murmured in his ear almost made him forget about the length of black still hovering at the edge of his vision.

Deft strokes on his hard shaft soon had him moaning low in his throat in time with the continuing surge of Yohji's body against his own. It seemed almost perilously wrong to be doing this standing up, but with Yohji braced behind him he felt no serious loss of balance. Just smooth motion and growing heat in the surprisingly erotic feel of Yohji's cock sliding against the upper part of his butt now, into the narrow gap between his cheeks, motion eased by sweat and Yohji's own fluids. Mimicking and reminding him of when Yohji had been inside him. He longed for that feeling again. Of the testing pressure, the impaling drive, the final strike on that mysterious spot that made pleasure a thing of fire and wonder, blanking the mind and filling the heart.

A hard thumb ran across the head of his cock, spreading the slick fluid there and making him gasp.

"Put your hands on it, Aya," Yohji murmured. And the sheathed katana was there in front of him, held at chest height. He froze, shocked that it had faded enough from his thoughts for him to almost forget about it. "Both hands. Hold it up flat in the air in front of you."

"No…" he groaned, a thread of fear tainting the pleasure now. He didn't want that instrument of death in his hands when he surrendered to Yohji…

"Do it, baby." Yohji's lips moved against his neck, hot breath searing him. His cock was stroked slowly, surely, his own pre-come making each motion a slick, heated wonder. His hips surged into each stroke, thrusting blindly as he felt the first tingling surge of orgasm begin. Then Yohji's hand was gone and he cried out in shock, arching up, bereft. The hand pressed hard against his lower belly, forcing him firmly back against the length of Yohji's own cock again.

"Take it, Aya." The words were firm, knowing, insistent.

"Yohji… bastard… don't stop!" He tossed his head against Yohji's supporting shoulder, desperate for his hand on him again. Gasping, he clamped his own hands around Yohji's arm, trying to coax him to move his hand down again – force it if necessary – but he wouldn't budge. Aya moaned, biting hard at his lower lip in his extremity. He was so close…

"C'mon, baby, just trust me… take it and hold it out in front of you."

"God, you _bastard_ …" he hissed in frustration, as fear was swamped by raging need. Aya raised trembling hands and grabbed the black sheath tightly. Avoiding the hilt, he shuddered in mingled lust and revulsion, breath hitching short.

"Yeah, just hold it there," Yohji said, a trace of triumph in his tone. He released it only after making certain Aya was actually going to comply.

Aya wanted to curse him, but didn't have the breath. He held it up, feeling the subtle strain begin in his arms, feeling the added tension the pose put into a body already aching for release. He bit back a fresh moan, then a cry as both of Yohji's hands dropped down to Aya's thighs, running slowly in and down the hard muscle toward the tender skin of the inside of his legs. Each strong hand cupped his inner thighs, hovering just under his groin.

Aya cried out hoarsely at the teasing brush of forearms against his aching flesh. Not enough. He wanted more. Needed more. His hips pulsed and the katana wavered in front of him.

"Easy, baby, keep it up," Yohji murmured, lips on the join of Aya's neck, his own cock pushing hard against the crack of Aya's ass.

"What is this shit…? God, Yohji, just _touch_ me!" Aya hissed in pure desperation. He didn't want to split his attention at all, particularly not to the blade. He wanted Yohji to quit teasing and finish him so he could put the damn thing back where it belonged. His breath was coming in quick, short pants.

"I think I owe you a mark… how about here?" Yohji's mouth settled on the straining tendon at the side of his neck. Right under his ear – prominent and impossible to cover later. Teeth nipped dangerously at his skin as Aya moaned a wordless protest, trying to twist his head away. "No? I'll find somewhere else then." Lips moved lower on his neck, back to the tender join again. He felt a firm sucking begin just as one hand slipped under his balls, the fingers feathering intimately against the tender skin there, the other finally reaching up to grasp his aching erection once more.

"Yohji!" The name was cried out desperately as he was squeezed against the other man, Yohji's hand shifting to the bone under his balls and now half lifting him up and back. Aya felt a shocking burst of pleasure, pressure on that special place coming from an unexpected quarter, even as Yohji surged against his ass and his cock was stroked hard. His arms dipped.

"Hold it up, Aya!" He struggled to comply, caught between the distraction of the scabbard in his hands that only fed his tension and the hard feel of Yohji surging against him while his body was held taut and arching and helpless. Then everything was heightened to almost screaming pitch by several quick, hard strokes of his cock.

He came suddenly in a spiraling, shivering, lightning-like burst; head arched back, body straining up, Yohji's hand milking him skillfully as near overwhelming relief mingled with the throbbing spurt of completion. He cried out, low and long, the sound a shivering groan of sated desire as his own seed splattered against his belly again, spilling over Yohji's fingers.

"Oh, god, Aya… yes…" Yohji released his cock only to wrap his arms around Aya's hips and chest, drawing him up even as he slumped, spent, in Yohji's hold. The sheathed katana fell hard across his thighs, his hands clenched too tightly on the scabbard to release it yet, his brain once more occupied with remembering how to continue critical bodily functions first – like breathing. Yohji somehow managed to brace him up, enveloping him in his arms as he sank into a half crouch behind Aya, thrusting over and over against the sweat-slick crack of his ass. Legs trembling, breath coming in sharp grunts; until Yohji gave one last hard thrust before arching and shivering against him with a low cry of his own as wet heat pulsed between them.

Yohji staggered back, dragging Aya with him. Finding the edge of the bed by running into it, he collapsed across it with a grunt, Aya still firmly cradled in his arms.

"Fuck! It's a rock!" Yohji cried in breathless outrage.

"Hn," Aya managed, lying face up and limp across Yohji's body, feeling the rapid draw of his breath under him, the solid beat of his heart. He was covered in cooling sweat and semen, but his body felt pleasantly warm and comfortable, cradled by Yohji's arms. He rolled his head until his cheek rested against Yohji's, replete.

"God, I want a cigarette," Yohji sighed after a long moment of silence.

The sword was still clutched in his hands. Aya came aware of it with a flinching jerk, making Yohji groan as an elbow caught him in the ribs.

"Oof! Hey!"

He lifted the scabbard up above them in one hand, bending his arm as if to throw it away, but Yohji caught his wrist. His other arm stayed wrapped around Aya, holding him close as he started to struggle. Wanting the sword gone.

"What is it with you and throwing this thing, huh?" Yohji grunted, holding on to him grimly.

"Get it away… I might… No…" he panted in a kind of panicked daze, afraid to think, afraid to feel in case the blood-urge came over him again. Yohji's grip on his arm was implacable, his arm around his chest holding him down like an iron band… or was he not struggling hard enough? Was his traitorous body already relaxing into Yohji's hold? Yohji shifted and rolled them awkwardly on their sides on the narrow bed, facing him now, a concerned frown on his face.

"Easy, Aya, you're not going to kill me."

Aya froze in shock, staring into green eyes in astonished horror. How had Yohji known? Yohji smiled gently at him, drawing the arm that held the scabbard down until the cool length rested against them both. Aya shivered.

"You know, sometimes, you're not all that hard to read, Aya…" Yohji said softly. Aya stared into his eyes, looking for hatred or fear or disgust. Found only a kind of weary understanding.

"I thought about it… downstairs…" he admitted, the words torn from him as a kind of penance. He didn't deserve Yohji's understanding.

"So? I think about killing our darling Kenken all the time… and oh look, _he's_ still alive." Green eyes rolled faintly. "But I swear if he leaves a soccer ball on the stairs one more time…"

"It's not a joke, Yohji."

Yohji sighed. "I know, I know. Sorry. But you won't do it, Aya. Not now, not ever. You've passed the crisis point. First I fucked you and then I challenged you – pissed you way the hell off – and you couldn't do it. You waited for me on the stairs instead."

"And you came after me…" Aya frowned, alarmed by the recklessness of that for the first time. What would have happened if…?

Yohji gave him a gentle shake. "I'm not afraid of you, Aya."

"You should be."

"Bullshit. I respect you, but that's different."

Aya fell silent, searching the steady green gaze. There was no fear there, there was also no true arrogance – or not too much. Just a quiet understanding and respect. "Is that why you made me hold my sword while you did… that?"

"No, _that_ was because you're one hot piece of ass and I wanted to get us both off again..." Yohji leered at him, a smug smile curling his mouth.

Aya snorted in impatience. Yohji was not being serious at all now and Aya was curious. Worse, he thought he _needed_ to understand why. But before he could form a question that might actually get a serious reply, Yohji released his wrist and threaded his fingers in the hair behind his ear, cupping his head as he stared into his eyes.

"Trust goes both ways, Aya."

He closed his eyes at the simple truth, breath sighing out of him. Lips closed over his in a gentle caress as Yohji's arms tugged him back up onto his chest, holding him close. Aya held the sheathed blade between them, lying at an angle across their hearts. And it was just a sword and not a siren call to mindless death, his fear defused.

"I should use this on your Seven," he said quietly, letting his eyes drift open, and had the amused satisfaction of seeing green eyes widen in horror, of feeling the body under his tense in wary surprise.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh?"

"Aya… I'll pay three-quarters?"

"Hm…"

"Aya!"

\- - fin - -


	4. Elsewhere

* * * * *
    
    
    I know this love is passing time, passing through like liquid; I am drunk on my desire...  
    But I love the way you smile at me  
    I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near  
    I believe...  
    I believe this is heaven to no one else but me...
    
    Elsewhere - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Ken Hidaka barely noticed the near-murderous glares anymore. Only full strength shi-ne glares concerned him. "C'mon, Aya! Omi has cram school all afternoon. And I need to get to the field early today. Tamura-san is bringing her son for extra practice."

Aya had already turned back to what he was doing, lips pressed in a thin line, silent. The red-head stood inside the opened front cooler door, calmly re-arranging the contents of the cut flower buckets to cover the spaces left when individual stems were purchased. They'd sold a lot of roses today. Ken had no idea why, but it seemed that Yohji had been particularly flirtatious with all the school girls that afternoon. They'd all left giggling and giddy from his extravagant flattery. Ken had just rolled his eyes in disgust. Didn't Yohji get enough of that crap when he went out prowling at night?

But, come to think of it, Yohji hadn't been out bar-hopping in more than two weeks now. Ever since the night he dented Aya's car when he came in drunk… Ken winced in remembered sympathy. Aya had been furious. Ken still wasn't sure exactly how Yohji had talked the swordsman out of using his katana on the Seven's canvas top in retaliation since that was the night Yohji had paid for him and Omi to go to a movie. He told them later that he had wanted to break the news to Aya without innocent bystanders around… Ken still thought that had been a reckless move on Yohji's part, but it seemed to have worked. Yohji was still alive and the Seven was intact.

Even though Yohji had apparently stopped his clubbing for now, the older man was showing no signs of the crankiness such a long drought usually brought on. Actually, he seemed unusually relaxed. Almost happy at times, even. Ken shot Yohji a speculative look over his shoulder, gaze narrowed on the tall blond where he leaned with his usual feline grace against the register table, amused green eyes watching his apparently fruitless pleading with Aya. Did he have a steady girl for a change?

Ken shook his head at the ridiculous thought, transferring his attention back to Aya. It was Aya he should be concerned with, since the red-head was about to go off-shift. He had to convince him to stay. If he didn't hurry, Miyuki-san would have to take Hisoka back to his grandmother so that she could go on to work and the boy would miss practice again. And Ken would miss seeing Miyuki-san again…

"I'll work _two_ shifts for you! But not on Thursdays… okay?" he offered desperately, trying not to glance at the clock _every_ second. Yes, that second hand was moving awfully fast, it seemed, but he still had fifteen minutes. Almost enough time to change into his practice gear and get to the park on his bike in time. If he left _now_. "C'mon, Aya, it's only a coupla hours!"

Yohji laughed behind him. He'd been watching silently for the last ten minutes as Ken all but got down on his knees and begged Aya to take over the rest of his shift. The older man was probably having a hell of time watching, but Ken didn't turn to see the huge smirk he knew was on Yohji's face; all his attention was now focused on Aya's lean back. Willing him to be considerate for a change and help him out.

"Hey, yeah, come on, Aya," Yohji interjected, amusement plain in his tone. "Can't you see Romeo's practically fainting here? Take pity on the boy. Let him go be alone with his lady-friend and her kid for a while, huh?"

Ken flushed at Yohji's words. Romeo? His lady-friend? What the hell? He just wanted to help out Miyuki-san. She had to work two shifts at the hospital on Thursdays and the only way she could let her son Hisoka attend practice was if Ken was there an hour early. He didn't consider it much of an imposition. Miyuki-san was just an over-worked single mother that he wanted to help out, that was all. It wasn't an imposition for Ken to take the boy home to the house Miyuki-san shared with her mother after practice either… especially if Miyuki-san was between shifts. Ken flushed harder, but didn't argue.

Aya looked up. He shot Yohji a narrowed-eyed glare through the glass cooler door that was almost up to full death-dealing state.

"All right." Ken had to blink once in shock at Aya's sudden capitulation. "Two shifts."

"What? Really?" But he was already stripping off his apron. Not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth. Aya being reasonable? He'd better go before the mercurial swordsman changed his mind. Ken wadded the apron up as he spun away with a little whoop. He shot the bunched-up apron at the box set beside the back bench like a basketball, oblivious of where it actually landed. "Thanks, Aya! I'm outta here. Don't expect me for dinner, guys."

He raced for the back of the shop, bursting eagerly into the small hall that led in four distinctly different directions; garage, kitchen, stairs up to the living quarters and stairs down to the basement mission room. He sprinted up the stairs for his own rooms on the second floor stripping his dark blue polo shirt off as he went.

Inside his rooms then, tossing the shirt carelessly toward the pile near the laundry basket he kicked off his work half-boots just before he stripped off his jeans. Snatching up shorts, vented work-out shirt and running shoes, Ken dressed hastily. Mind fixed on the best way to reach the sports field at this time of day through Tokyo traffic. Bouncing impatiently from foot to foot as he put on his shoes while searching for his wallet and keys at the same time, Ken was struck with sudden inspiration.

Maybe Miyuki-san would like a flower of her own? They'd sold enough single roses today to silly school girls who promptly swapped them with each other to implant the idea firmly in his mind that a flower was a cheerful present between friends. Pausing just long enough to drag a comb through his hair and actually tie his shoelaces, Ken snatched up his leather jacket and slammed out of his room. He bounded down the stairs three at a time, turning at the last second into the shop door rather than the garage.

"Hey, Yohji! What kind of rose is good for friends?" he called as he burst through the door… without thinking about it first. Then he grimaced, screeched to a halt in the middle of the shop and smacked himself in the forehead. Asking _Yohji_ was just asking for more teasing! Ken swiped his hand down his face in disgust, finally blinking out warily between his spread fingers at his two teammates.

Yohji was standing at the front of the shop now, close by the display cooler and Aya, a twisted Yohji-smug grin on his face. Aya was leaning against the cooler door, his head down, glaring at the floor with his hands fisted at his sides. Annoyed? What, had Yohji been harassing Aya about something too? Ken dropped his hand from his face and rolled his eyes. Yohji and his damned teasing…

"Thought you were leaving already, Kenken," Yohji said, crossing his arms over his chest, his green eyes glittering with a kind of manic glee over being handed such ammunition, no doubt. Ken groaned as the blond continued, "And why do you need to know the right rose color for a… friend, huh?"

"Um… I, ah… just thought that Tamura-san would like a flower for her trouble," he stammered. "In case I'm late…" Then his irritation flared. "Shit, just pick the right kind out for me, Yohji! I wanna get on the road…"

"Yellow," Aya said sharply, spinning around to the cooler and yanking the door open. He reached into the buckets, moved his hand among them for a moment before carefully removed a single yellow rose, the bud just unfurling and still in a graceful tulip shape. Lovely, fresh and beautiful. Trust Aya to find the best rosebud in the whole damn shop, Ken thought. Slipping a plastic reservoir of nutrient water on the end of the stem, the red-head turned and took a long step past Yohji as the cooler door swung shut behind him, brushing into the other man as he did so since Yohji made no move to get out of his way.

That drew a dangerously narrow-eyed glare from Aya that Yohji just smirked at before turning and leaning back against the now-closed cooler. Ken frowned for a moment. What was that all about? What the hell could Yohji be riding Aya about anyway? Usually it was Aya riding Yohji over his piss-poor work attitude. Not that Yohji had given him any reason for that today… they'd sold tons of single flowers. High profit margin, those.

Then Aya was thrusting the rose at him, his face set in grim lines, long bangs falling down over seething violet eyes.

"Wrap it yourself," he snapped before striding toward the live plant display in the window on the far side of the shop. Ken grimaced, shot the still smirking Yohji a 'what kind of death-wish do you have anyway you idiot' look then darted back to the arranging bench at the back of the shop. He quickly wrapped the single rose in green waxed tissue, then wrapped the whole thing in clear, stiff cellophane, tying it shut with a piece of blue ribbon, hoping that would preserve the rosebud against most of the abuse it would get inside his coat while riding his motorcycle.

"Hey… I'm gone," he called with a last look back at his teammates and a wave. Yohji was sauntering across the shop, hands in the front pockets of his ridiculously tight, low-slung pants, a wicked grin on his lips. He'd dug his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket – silk for Chrissake! – and put them on for some reason, concealing his eyes. Aya was carefully unfurling the small shop hose, preparing to give the display it's afternoon watering.

Ken shook his head. If he was Yohji, he didn't think he'd be looking quite so smug at having to be alone in the shop with Aya for a few hours. Aya was looking pretty damn annoyed right then.

With a shrug, Ken dashed off to the garage, keys already out. It wasn't his problem if Yohji wanted to feel the sharp side of the swordsman's tongue. Ken was just glad he didn't have to be around to hear it.

* * * * *

Several hours later, Ken quietly opened the door from the garage to the shop. Not even running out of gas on his bike and having to push it the last five blocks or so to the store had managed to spoil his mood. Managing to catch Miyuki-san at the park probably had something to do with that he admitted to himself with a faintly rueful grin. He couldn't keep the image of her soft eyes out of his head. Or the way the sunlight had picked out the subtle reddish highlights in her lovely dark hair that afternoon. The rose had gone over well. She'd seemed genuinely pleased, smiling at him shyly from behind her hand.

It was just too bad she hadn't been home when he'd dropped Hisoka off. Though he'd seen the yellow rose in a vase set prominently on the main table in the house when he left the boy there twenty minutes ago. It wasn't quite seven-thirty yet, but he'd probably have to find his own food. Omi wouldn't be back from cram school for another half hour or so because he usually ate somewhere on the way home… Lost in pleasantly mundane thoughts, Ken looked up as he rounded the corner in the short hall that would take him to the kitchen proper and came to a sudden, stunned halt.

Yohji had Aya pinned to the far wall beside the back door. The tall blond loomed over the shorter red-head; one tanned hand was wrapped tightly around both of Aya's wrists and was holding them imprisoned above his head. And Yohji's other hand – if Ken could believe his eyes – was stuck down the front of Aya's pants.

But what truly stunned Ken was the look on Aya's face. His teeth were buried in his lower lip. His pale skin was flushed. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back against the wall as the normally aloof man gave a low moan of what sounded distinctly like pleasure.

"That's right, baby," Yohji was saying, his voice lowered to a smooth purr that Ken had never heard him use before. His hand inside Aya's loosened pants was moving slowly and deliberately in a way that no man anywhere on earth could mistake. "I was teasing you horribly all day long, wasn't I? But I always make it up to you, don't I, Aya?"

"Yes, you do," Aya said after another low moan. "Bastard." And his voice was just as strange. Rough and raw yet somehow almost… affectionate. Showing far more emotion than Ken had ever dreamed the swordsman was capable of… at least of emotions other than anger or rage. Ken's eyes grew wider as Yohji leaned over and ran his lips down the side of Aya's face, skimmed them over the flushed cheek and back toward the man's ear. Aya turned blindly toward him, gasping softly, as if disappointed. Yohji chuckled against his skin, his face buried against Aya's neck, blond hair falling forward and concealing whatever he was doing. Then his hand started to move faster in Aya's pants.

Ken could hear wet sounds, flesh on flesh… soft moans from Aya as his hands clenched into and out of fists, as his arms strained against Yohji's imprisoning grip… Yohji's voice murmuring to him, now too low to be understood. Aya's face was turned toward Yohji. Eyes still closed. Mouth open. Hips rolling up into Yohji's strokes. Lost in what the other man was doing to him.

And he looked… _Aya_ … Aya looked… vulnerable. Incredible. _Human_.

Confused, shocked and mildly appalled, Ken backed slowly away. He walked with extreme care back down the hall. Somehow they hadn't heard him open the garage door. He glanced at it with wide eyes that ached a bit from being held so wide, but he couldn't make himself blink more than once. The door hadn't latched completely behind him – that had probably muffled the sound. And he'd walked his bike in… Ken pulled the garage door open slowly and stepped back into the garage like a sleepwalker. He closed the door with infinite care behind him, not wanting the two in the kitchen to know that he'd seen them.

Walking back over to his bike, Ken braced his hands on the back of it and leaned over. Staring down at the formed black leather of the seat blankly.

Aya… and Yohji… were…

His mind whirled as all his pre-conceptions about his teammates came crashing down around his ears.

Yohji was a playboy. He chased women all the time. Flirted. Teased. Fooled around. He loved women… and he hated men.

Ken blinked once at that thought. Apparently not. At least not _Aya_ …

In many ways, Yohji was the big brother he'd never had. A perverted, lazy, annoying big brother, granted, but from what he'd heard, that was exactly what a big brother was supposed to be. To find out that Yohji, the playboy big brother, liked to do _that_ with men too… Ken's mind reeled.

He shuddered, hands fisting on the back of his bike.

And Aya… The man was an iceberg. Emotionless. Pitiless. Focused. Unless you made the mistake of saying the name 'Takatori' in his hearing. Or just plain annoyed him… which sometimes was just by _breathing_ …

But… his face, his voice… Ken couldn't get the image of Aya's face out of his mind. He'd looked so open, so relaxed, so _normal_ … or as normal as it could get for two men to be doing that kind of thing together. Ken snorted and shook his head sharply. Not that he really cared about someone's sexual orientation, but it was easier to think that way when it was nameless people somewhere else rather than two men who you depended on for your very life at times. Two men who had kept this hidden for a while…

Because for Aya to be that relaxed, for Yohji to say what he had, this must have been going on for some time and Ken just hadn't realized it. Because he'd had no idea. None. Never in a million years would he have guessed they were doing _that_. So they hadn't started acting any differently. Ken slapped himself on the forehead. Of course not! They were hiding it, fool!

But Aya… his face… that had been trust. He trusted Yohji enough to let him do _that_ to him… and Ken felt a strange pang of anguish go through him.

Then he heard the door open behind him and whirled around to see Yohji walk silently into the garage, green eyes narrowed. They stared at each other for a long moment, level, wary. Sizing each other up. Ken's breathing grew heavy, his nerves jumping, hands flexing into and out of fists at his side. Like Aya… His eyes widened in horrified dismay and Yohji snorted, easing subtly. He reached into his back pocket and dug out his cigarettes and lighter. Shook one out. Stuck it between his lips and lit it. Every move was steady and normal and relaxed. There was no air of guilty shame around him. No dismay at being exposed. Nothing except the usual annoyingly composed, casual Yohji.

"Saw too much, did you?" Yohji said, an easy twist to his lips. His usual mocking smile. No different.

"I didn't make any noise…" was the first thing Ken thought to say, eyes narrowing.

Yohji sucked in on his cigarette, making the tip glow bright, then he tilted his head back and blew out a long stream of smoke toward the ceiling, eyeing the banks of fluorescent lights up above.

"No, but I saw the light down the hall."

Ken cursed under his breath. The hall had been dark. But it had been Aya who was facing the hallway.

"Where's…" _Aya_. He couldn't bring himself to say the man's name.

"Upstairs," Yohji said, a trace of anger entering his tone as he plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. "Thanks a lot, baka. Do you know how long it took me to talk him into doing it in the kitchen? K'so!"

Ken goggled at him, shocked by Yohji's casual treatment of the whole thing.

"Is that all you can think about? Not getting it where you want it?"

"No, actually, I'm trying to keep from kicking your ass for not staying out later, Kenken," Yohji said, green eyes narrowed with true anger now. "He's so freaked I may never talk him into it again."

"What!? What about me, damn it? Since when are you _gay_ , Yohji?" Ken snarled.

"Since when is it any of your damn business, Ken?" Yohji snarled right back. "You never cared when you caught me fucking a woman in the hall. Why does this matter? Or did you just like the other view better?"

Ken felt his jaw drop. He stared at Yohji in amazement not knowing whether to throw a punch at him or grab him and shake him. Not that either one would do him any good… Yohji was damn fast.

"It really doesn't matter to you that you're fucking _Aya_?" Ken cried. "He's a guy!"

"No, Ken, since I'm the one doing it, it probably _shouldn't_ matter to me, don't you think?" Yohji gave an exasperated sigh, running the hand without the cigarette through his loose hair. "Look, are you going to keep being stupid about this? I've always been bi, Ken, I just didn't bother to let you guys know it. Not that it's really any of your business, anyway."

Yohji tossed his just-lit cigarette on the floor and crushed it out viciously with his boot heel. Ken glared at him, heart and mind boiling with confused emotions. Things weren't as they seemed. Had never been as they seemed. His world was shaken.

"What does that make Aya, then?"

"Whatever he wants to be, Ken," Yohji said, voice heavy with menace. "Right now, he wants to be mine. And I'm happy to keep it that way. Just be glad I talked him into going upstairs. He's damn pissed right now."

" _He's_ pissed!?

"Ken!" Yohji shouted in exasperation. "What the hell do _you_ have to be pissed about? _You_ didn't get _interrupted_!"

Ken scowled, so overcome by anger and irritation over Yohji's stubborn obliviousness that he wanted to scream. "You guys are gay!" he bellowed instead.

"So?"

Ken blinked. Yohji laughed and waved a languid hand at him. Ken found himself wondering if he should have known about Yohji before… the way he moved… the way he dressed… but all those women who flocked around him… and that didn't explain Aya… except _he_ used a girl's name… and always wore that long earring… Ken's mind spun in confusion and half-panic. How could he have been so blind? How could he have missed something so… so…

"I get it. You're afraid we'll put the moves on you, eh?" Yohji laughed again as he raked his gaze blatantly over his body. "Sorry, Kenken, you're not my type. Besides, it's been more than two years – don't you think I'd've tried something sooner if you were?"

Ken just gaped at him, brain derailed once more. Yohji had no shame. None. Then he flushed and spluttered. "I'm not your type?"

Yohji shook his head, lips twisted up in that annoying, knowing smile of his. "Nope. And Aya's a one-man deal, I'm afraid. Rather vehemently."

"What?" Ken shook his head in angry confusion and turned away. He wanted to hit something and he didn't think Yohji would hold still for it. He wasn't dumb enough to pick a fight with Aya… not when the other man had his sword handy, anyway. He very badly wanted his bugnuks and a roomful of dark beasts to slay. And just how had the conversation gone this way? Why couldn't Yohji just freakin' understand his shock? And why the hell was _he_ actually annoyed that Yohji didn't consider him his type? What the _fuck_?!

"Ken," Yohji said from behind him, his tone weary and serious all of a sudden. "Nothing's different than it was this afternoon. Whether I'm fucking half a dozen strangers a week or just Aya, it's still me, okay?"

The soft, faintly vulnerable words deflated all his anger. Yohji never sounded like that. He didn't like it. It made him feel small and stupid and petty. Ken threaded his hands into his own hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth.

"Yohji… it's just… _shit_ ," he said, words, as always, failing him when it was really important. "It was a shock, okay? I'm dealing. But give me time."

"Okay."

His scalp was starting to protest so he forced his hands to relax, but he kept them on top of his head, the stretch feeling vaguely satisfying. He thought of Aya then. Stretched almost like this, with his head turned toward Yohji's, body held safe in Yohji's strong embrace as he allowed himself to be made open, vulnerable. Aya. Abyssinian. Their icy leader. Aya. Just a man with needs like any other... His mind threatened to go into a spin again, as he thought of red hair turned trustingly against blond and his heart began to pound with something frighteningly close to longing…

"No…" he breathed, shocked again, but at himself this time.

"What?" Yohji asked, his voice normal once more.

Ken dropped his hands down to his sides, fists clenched tight enough for fingernails to draw blood.

"Nothing, Yohji. It's nothing."

\- - fin - -


	5. Wait

* * * * *
    
    
    You know if I leave you now it doesn't mean I love you any less  
    It's just the state I'm in I can't be good to anyone else like this  
    When all we wanted was the dream  
    To have and to hold that precious little thing  
    Like every generation yields the newborn hope unjaded by their years...
    
    Wait - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

The house was old and hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in a while, but it was relatively secluded out here in the suburbs, isolated from its nearest neighbors by a thick belt of pine trees on one side and a small ravine on the other.

That was the way they'd entered the property, stumbling wearily up the ravine from the road that passed near the far end. They'd stolen another jeep from the Special Forces. Did the reeling government of Japan a few favors all unknowing by taking out a few more members of Takatori's private army. Then they'd fled to lick their wounds in private. There was no way they could return to the Koneko. They had been forced to trust to some long-memorized route buried in Omi's head to find this safe house. A final plan for escaping ultimate disaster concocted for him by Persia.

The kid was nearly a zombie by now; Ken had to practically carry him the last few yards to the back porch.

Dazed and confused and grief-stricken, they had almost had to drag him away from Persia's body the second time. After witnessing Reiji Takatori's end at Aya's hand, they'd made their way down from the flame-engulfed roof of the building back to the ornate office where Persia had met his own end. There Yohji had searched the man's body for anything vital, finding only a computer disk, a tiny tape recorder and a wallet. He'd taken all three, feeling vaguely ghoulish, but he knew the nearly overwhelming odds they all faced now. Hunted and outlawed until the situation in the country stabilized; and maybe even after. He had to make certain there were no clues left behind about their identities. No links to Persia.

Weiß was finished.

They were all exhausted. Battered. Numb. He knew Aya was injured, but the man had refused any treatment. Refused, after one sharply snapped out "Leave me alone" to speak to any of them. There was a fiercely savage light in his violet eyes, brittle confusion as well as an alarming emptiness. It was as if Aya had truly never considered what would happen after his long-held goal of revenge was achieved. And that made Yohji coldly, bitterly furious.

Because he realized now that Aya had never truly intended to survive the final confrontation.

And if Aya had never intended to survive… then where did that leave them?

Yet the swordsman wouldn't have lived even this long if Yohji hadn't risked his own death on the red-washed blade by grabbing his arm, yanking him off the roof and back down the fire stairs into the building. Following the frantic Omi and an anxiously pursuing Ken back to Persia's body. Once in motion again, Aya had followed them all without further prompting. Silent and ominous, his sword still bared in his hand, he'd detoured to help Ken take out the few remaining soldiers with grim precision.

Their ultimate escape from the burning office tower had turned into a nightmare of heat and smoke and foul water from the sprinkler system cascading slippery-cold down the stairs with them. Fire crews and emergency services, still disrupted by the aftermath of Takatori's takeover and the scattering of his illegal Special Forces by the hastily called up Japanese Self-Defense Force, hadn't been able to respond to the fire. The four assassins had managed to slip away from the building into the streets of Tokyo undetected.

And now here they were. Safe. For a little while.

"I've got Omi - you get Aya," Ken said to him, his voice hoarse from smoke as he led the stumbling boy down the deeply shadowed porch toward the door, too weary to stop and take any shoes off. "Hey, you got us here, Omi," the dark haired man muttered, jostling the boy who practically hung from his side. "Where's the key?"

Omi raised his head blearily. He'd stopped talking once he got them to the far end of the ravine and told them it was the house at the other end. His face was wet with silent tears, his eyes huge and glassy in his pale, soot-smeared face.

"Under the cover of the first lamp on the right in the garden." The boy's voice was little more than a pained whisper, filled with weary grief.

Yohji exchanged glances with Ken and went to retrieve the key. Aya stood in the center of the garden where he'd stopped. His head was bowed and he held the sheathed katana at his side. Yohji ignored him for now. Ken needed to get Omi inside. The boy had taken two hits at the trap earlier and the local anesthetic and rude bandages they'd slapped on his wounds had most likely worn off long ago. Of course, Ken was wounded too, but he hadn't just lost mentor and uncle like Omi had. Or the girl he'd loved only a few days before… Omi was suffering from far more than just physical wounds.

Yohji himself was the only one to escape major injury. Well, not counting crashing a jeep. Twice. He'd been rattled and bruised and stunned, but not seriously injured either time. And once they were in Takatori's building, he hadn't been touched. None of them had. They'd fought with a deadly focus and lethal skill that was daunting to witness. They'd all seemed to enter a kind of fugue state after Persia's death; dealing out devastating damage to the dozen or so Special Forces troops that Takatori had held around himself, slowly, inexorably peeling the living shield away from the rotten man until Aya finally cornered him on the roof, dueling him with savage intensity until he delivered the deathblow…

The house key was right where the boy had said, under the little wooden shield over the low path light. He fumbled it into his hand, replacing the shield over the light carelessly. Aya still stood like a statue beyond, but with his eyes closed and his face tipped up toward the half-moon high above. Yohji walked back to the house, unlocked the sliding door and pushed it wide, letting Ken drag Omi inside first before following him in.

It was a surprisingly big old house. Yohji checked it over carefully, wary of traps or surprises. Schwartz was still out there somewhere, but not here, thankfully. Extreme paranoia, maybe, but things had gone so bad so fast he couldn't help himself. The house sported five bedrooms. A lavish old-style bathing room with two deep tubs as well as a more modern tiled shower stall. He started filling one tub even as he called out its location to Ken. There was an American style washing machine hidden in a closet and - wonder of wonders - an electric clothes dryer. Costly and wasteful, but it would keep them from having to go anywhere at all. There were plenty of boxed, dried and canned goods stocked in the pantry. There was even a deep freezer loaded with more perishable foodstuffs, none dated more than a month old. Non-descript changes of clothes waited in the dressers. A safe house indeed. Someone maintained it in readiness, but there was no one there. They were alone.

Yohji claimed a bedroom by the simple expedient of walking inside, stripping off his long cross-sleeved coat and hanging it on a hook near the door. The coat reeked of smoke and blood. There was a low bench in the room he'd chosen. He dropped onto it wearily, leaning his aching head back against the wall. For the first time in his recent memory he had no urge at all for a cigarette. Ken had taken Omi straight to the bathroom for treatment. Through open doors, he could hear him talking gently to the boy in there but he could hear only sobs from Omi in response.

Poor chibi. They'd been running on the dregs of adrenaline and instinct for hours now. Now it was done.

Or almost.

Aya.

Yohji dragged himself back to his feet. Putting off the inevitable, he checked on Ken and Omi. He wasn't surprised to find them both in the shower as the tub was only about half full. Hot water didn't seem to be a problem. Omi could barely stand on his own now, trembling and shaking with exhaustion and reaction. Steam billowed everywhere and the water on the floor was running dark with soot and blood. Omi leaned against the far wall, hands over his face, sobbing quietly. Ken was examining the boy's shoulder wound, a pained look on his face. To Yohji's experienced eye it didn't look too bad, more of a graze really, but it should probably have a few stitches. If they had the right stuff somewhere around he could even take care of it…

A thin trail of fresh blood ran down the boy's wiry arm, pooling on Ken's supporting fingers before welling over and disappearing into the water falling around them. Life's blood, leaking away. Vanishing into water. Gone forever. So much of it had been spent today. So many dead for greed and ambition. But Reiji Takatori had been eliminated, his empire of terror and abuse broken. Asuka was finally avenged - even if his own guilt over her death remained.

Ken hastily dropped his hand away from Omi, the motion breaking the strange spell that had come over Yohji.

"Need any help?" Yohji asked, yanking his eyes away from the sight. Why was he staring at Omi's blood? Ken hesitantly met his gaze, a self-conscious flush on his cheeks despite the fact that the jock had kept both of their shorts on. Must have thought Yohji was staring at him touching Omi and thought him a pervert taking advantage or something. Idiot. Figured. There was no shame in helping a friend in need… but ever since Ken had walked in on him and Aya, the soccer player had been hyperconscious of every little touch exchanged between any of them. He had neither the will nor the energy to worry about Ken's confusion. Yohji kept his own expression neutrally concerned and Ken finally just shook his head, relaxing with a sigh. They were all strung out and on edge, it was no time to be needlessly sensitive.

"I've got him. Where's Aya?"

Yohji shrugged. "Still outside, I guess."

Ken raised an accusing brow at him, frowned. "I saw fresh blood on him. Shouldn't you be checking him over?"

" _C'h_. He almost took my arm off before. It's probably safer to wait for him to pass out from loss of blood…"

"Yohji." His name was said with weary dismay, making him fight a flinch in reaction. This was Ken. Scolding _him_. Not yelling at him but scolding. Imagine that. He forced a lopsided smile and turned away, stomach churning. The bitter emotions he'd been trying to ignore were starting to bubble free.

"I'll see to him."

Yohji walked out of the steamy bathroom into the relative coolness of the house. Paced across the old bare wooden floors in his boots, feeling faintly sacrilegious for doing it. Then he was out in the night air again, on the gravel garden path. There was no way to keep silent on the crushed rock. A good defensive early warning system. The entire house was encircled in a broad ring of it. Someone had picked well.

Aya still stood in the garden. Staring up at the moon. Expression blank. Empty. Not cool or composed or even annoyed - just blank.

Yohji watched him for a moment in silence. Daunted. Aya had always had a buried tension about him. A hidden intensity. A faintly dangerous air that one couldn't really pin down - until now, when it was gone. He looked curiously vulnerable standing there illuminated in stark black and white in the moonlight.

It was shock, most likely. And what would emerge on the other side of it… Yohji had no clue.

Just as he'd had no clue about the sister Aya protected. Until, cornered by the Special Forces, despairing and trying to explain to the two of them why Aya wasn't there to die with them like rats in a trap, Omi had told him and Ken about following Aya to a hospital and finding the sleeping girl who bore his name. Poking around at the hospital he'd discovered that 'Aya' was really 'Ran' and that his younger sister had been in a coma for nearly two years. And that the silent and grim Ran paid every one of her substantial hospital bills himself…

Yohji had been stunned into speechlessness, letting Ken rave for the both of them.

Aya had said nothing to him. Not once. Despite surrendering to Yohji in bed so many times and in so many ways that it made him dizzy… Despite the intimacy, the hours of lying sated in each other's arms… He had never once spoken of his sister or the _reason_ for his vendetta against all things Takatori… despite the trust… despite the surrender…

…just as Yohji hadn't asked. Because to ask was to invite questions in return. Questions he'd rather not have answered. Self-disgust surged with the simmering anger, a dangerous combination.

Since he'd taken off his coat, he had just the usual tight half-shirt over clinging pants that he wore underneath it. Working clothes. His watch was on his wrist. He spun out a length of wire in one hand, held it looped on gloved fingers as he warily watched the other man.

He was not taking any chances. The lean, leather-clad figure was still frozen in the garden, marble-pale face illuminated by the moonlight. Stunningly beautiful in this light, but cold. So very cold… and dangerous.

"Aya? You okay?"

No reaction. The sheathed katana was gripped in only one hand. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Yohji sent shimmering silver wire through the air, wrapped it skillfully around the sword sheath and gave a quick tug. It came out of Aya's hand with shocking ease, flying back toward Yohji too fast. Despite it, he caught it in one hand, staring at Aya through narrowed eyes.

Still no reaction other than a reflexive clutching of the hand after the fact. And he started to be truly concerned.

"Aya." He took a step forward, paused and snapped off the wire, dropping it and the katana on the path behind him, irritation and even a little fear rising. "Aya? Are you okay or not? I saw blood…"

"No…" The voice was hoarse, raw as if he had been screaming. But he hadn't been. Probably just from smoke inhalation. Yohji was relieved to be acknowledged at last, but surprise made him harsh.

"About fuckin' time…" He moved closer, freezing on the gravel when Aya spoke again.

"Not Aya."

"What?"

"Ran."

The pale face turned down to him, washed by moonlight, the eyes dark under ragged bangs but revealed by reflections. Focusing on him suddenly with an intensity that shocked him. Yohji gasped as if punched in the stomach.

"Are you hurt, Yohji?"

"No," he said, recovering quickly and walking toward Aya. "But you are."

Ran. He'd told him his real name - finally - but he couldn't think of him that way. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Aya blinked at him slowly, frowned.

"Yes," he said simply, then staggered forward. Yohji caught him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him up. Tight. Hard. His breath hitching suspiciously in his chest. Aya moaned softly at the pressure on his back and he eased up, shifting his grip to support the other man around the ribs instead, lifting his arm around his shoulders to haul him along the gravel path toward the house.

"Stubborn," he said, dragging him to the porch. He made to haul him up the stairs onto the wooden porch, but Aya balked.

"Shoes," he murmured. Yohji scowled fiercely at him.

"For Chrissake, Aya, you're _bleeding_ …"

"Shoes," the other man insisted, pulling away from him. Then he sat down hard on the edge of the porch, slipping out of Yohji's grasp. There he blinked down at his tall boots, momentarily nonplussed at how to proceed. There was no bootjack handy.

With a sigh of disgust, Yohji straddled his legs, grabbed his boots one after the other and stripped them off. Then, at Aya's pointed stare, kicked off his own low boots.

"There, happy?" Yohji snorted before reaching down and hauling him up again. Aya came with a grunt.

He half carried Aya toward the bathroom. Pushed open the door to find Ken kneeling on the floor outside the shower, a still-sobbing but mostly dry and bandaged Omi crumpled in his arms.

Ken looked up, helpless anguish clear on his face. Out of his depth and embarrassed by the boy's seemingly endless storm of emotion. Yohji frowned.

"He'll be fine tomorrow. Take him to bed with you. Let him cry it out."

Ken gaped at him. "Take him t-to _bed_ with me?"

"Shit, Ken! Don't be an idiot!" Yohji fumed, maneuvering Aya against the counter where a rather complete looking medical kit was now spread open. He stripped off his gloves impatiently. "Just to _sleep_. Give him some human contact. He needs it."

Aya stirred at his side, blinked owlishly at Ken and Omi.

"Don't leave him alone," Aya confirmed, meeting Ken's startled gaze.

"God… Aya…" Ken said, eyes wide as he stared at the red-head. "Yohji, he looks nearly bled out…!"

"No," Yohji said with a quick glance at Aya under the stark lights to confirm it. He was pale, but not jaundiced - besides there wasn't nearly enough blood on the dark coat for that. "Mr. Stubborn here's okay. Just in shock. He took the time to make us both take our boots off on the porch." He gave a snort of disgust.

Ken goggled at him. Yohji left a faintly shivering Aya leaning precariously against the counter as he went to gather up towels, dropping one over Ken's dripping head even as he more carefully wrapped one around Omi's shaking shoulders. He rubbed the boy's back in small circles for a long moment as he crouched beside them, Ken's brown eyes wide on him.

"Easy, Omi-chan," he said, voice low and soothing. "Kenken's gonna take you to bed now. You stay with him. Get some sleep."

"Hai, Yohji-kun." Omi surprised him with a soft but almost steady reply, his face still buried in Ken's arms. "Is everyone else okay? Is Aya-kun okay?"

"I'm taking care of him next. You go with Ken."

"I-I should try to contact someone… Manx…"

Yohji snorted. "No, tomorrow will be soon enough to plan things. Sleep first, chibi."

With that, he and Ken rose up, steadying the boy between them. Omi raised his tear-ravaged face, deep blue eyes reddened and puffy, filled with sorrow and guilt and pain. The tears were for Ouka as much as anyone or anything else, Yohji knew. The girl he loved had been shot to death in his arms. It was a crushing grief he'd been holding back in order to see this through. Things had happened too fast, too quick. For them all.

"I'm sorry, Yohji-kun, Ken-kun… I'll try harder…"

Yohji scowled at him. Trying so hard to do what he thought was expected, Omi. But if he could let it go now, he might heal less twisted than the rest of them were and end up almost normal. Strange thought to have about a boy who'd been an assassin since the age of twelve, but that was Omi. Breaking many of the rules and making up the rest. Assassins weren't supposed to care like this…

Yohji cupped that puffy face in his hands, leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Omi's for a moment. "'Let mourning stop when one's grief is fully expressed.' Don't be ashamed, Omi."

Omi tried a weak smile, failed, then nodded. Ken nodded too, and led the boy slowly out of the bathroom. Yohji watched them go, sighing deeply and running a hand through his hair - or he tried to. It was tangled, filthy and even singed. Ugh.

"Confucius?" Aya said quietly. Yohji just shot him a narrow stare.

"What of it? You, strip. I want to see that wound. Then we're washing too."

Aya gave him a flat stare, and, to his intense surprise, began to struggle with the buckles on the front of his coat without further comment. Yohji stepped close, batted his hands aside and undid them himself. Aya watched his hands for a moment, weariness plain on his face, then transferred that faintly unnerving regard to Yohji's face.

"You're so beautiful," Aya said, his voice low and still rough. Yohji shot him a startled look and a frown as he tugged the coat open. Aya wore his habitual dark gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off beneath. It was soaked on one side with drying blood. Not a lot of fresh, which was both a good and bad sign.

"Beautiful, eh?" Yohji said as he eased the coat off Aya's shoulders as gently as he could. The other man gritted his teeth but made no other sound as the leather and caked blood peeled slowly away from his back. Dark bruises and scrapes were already rising on the pale flesh all over his body, yet the main wound had come when Takatori had tagged Aya once in their duel on a particularly reckless pass by Aya. "I thought that was my line…"

"Calling you handsome makes me sound like a woman in a romance novel."

"You _are_ a woman in a romance novel, Aya."

Aya surprised him by actually giving a snort that might be a laugh at that weak little jab before his violet eyes glittered up at Yohji, a light sweat starting on his skin.

"How much blood?"

"Not bad. But it's dried."

"Hn."

"Soak it?"

Aya shifted his shoulders carefully. "Doesn't feel too deep. Might be okay."

"What do you know? You're in shock. Let Kudoh-sensei look at it first." As he spoke he was turning Aya against the counter so he could see his back. Aya leaned forward slightly, bracing himself. Yohji looked at the bloodied shirt and hissed in annoyance.

The slice had started down below Aya's shoulder. He'd obviously been moving away from the blow as it was deeper lower down and trailed up to little more than a scratch. But it was about a foot long and still oozing blood. He could see most of it through the severed shirt, but the lower part was stuck to the wound with caked blood. He felt a deep sense of outrage that the perfect ivory skin had been so marred, coupled with a sharp regret that the one who had done this had died so easily. Blade through the chest. Too merciful a death by far for one such as Takatori. The bloodthirsty impulse startled him a bit. It wasn't like him to linger on the manner of death, only that it was done.

"Long. Deep. Needs stitches," he informed Aya gruffly. Aya just let his head droop forward, nodding once in understanding. Yohji looked in the kit Ken had tumbled open across the counter. Found alcohol and sterile pads. There was even a good topical anesthetic and sealed pre-threaded sutures as well as some of that ultramodern fake skin. He could use that later to cover the wound and prevent tearing.

With scissors from the kit, Yohji cut the shirt the rest of the way off, holding the lower part in place. Pale, strong shoulders were revealed, marked with bruises, the lean, graceful back striped with red lines, the subtle hollow of his spine above the dark line of his pants streaked with blood. He was a battered, bloody mess, but he'd encountered two of Schwartz on his own and somehow survived to come to their rescue at the landfill. Aya flinched a bit as the dried blood pulled away from the upper part of the wound, but stayed silent. The routine was familiar. They'd all treated each other's wounds before.

Yohji completed cutting the shirt away around his hand, leaving a small stuck portion clinging to Aya's back, holding it in place so it wouldn't pull the wound more. He raised his head then, meeting Aya's gaze in the steam-smeared mirror beyond.

"Want me to try and soak it first or just pull?"

"Just pull it." It was the answer he expected.

He still did it as carefully as he could, keeping pressure on the lips of the wound to prevent more bleeding, but some was inevitable. Aya bit his lip to keep sounds of pain back, his eyes squeezing closed in his pale face. He looked almost the same as he did when Yohji was pushing into him during sex. The inadvertent comparison made him cringe inside. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Soon enough, the ruins of the shirt were gone and he could see the full damage.

It wasn't quite as bad as he had feared. The heavy leather coat and his own speed had obviously saved him from a debilitating blow. Taking a moment to thoroughly wash his hands, Yohji watched Aya just lean against the counter, drawing slow, deep breaths in preparation for what he knew was coming. Cleaning and sewing.

It was bitterly ironic that receiving wounds was far easier than fixing them later. When the shock faded was when the true pain began as the body reacted to the damage.

Yohji let his hands continue their mechanical motion as he just stared at the other man. Red hair darkened by sweat and soot and lying in spikes against his skin, face pale but marked with bruises, glittering golden earring lying against his graceful neck; Aya was beautiful, so beautiful that he felt his heart swell strangely. No. Not Aya. _Ran_. He stopped himself before the thought went any further.

Yohji dried his hands, then took alcohol and gauze and started to wipe down the skin around the wound so that he could better see it. Aya stayed silent, mostly, breathing heavily through his mouth in an effort to control the pain. He was as careful as he could be, and as soon as most of the dried blood was washed away Yohji found the anesthetic and applied it liberally. He hated to see the lines of pain around those eyes.

"It'll be a few minutes before that takes full effect," he said, leaving Aya's side to check the tub. It had almost finished filling. He shut off the water and tested the temperature. Not as hot as he would have preferred, but hot enough. They could get clean and that was the important part. Aya was still shivering occasionally, though most of his tremors seemed to have eased in the steamy warmth of the bathroom.

"Once you sew it I can't use that…" Aya said, a vaguely wistful note in his voice. He turned to find the other man watching him, a curious light in his eyes. Yohji snorted as he straightened slowly up from the cedar tub. His body was starting to realize they weren't on the run anymore. His own aches and bruises and scrapes were making themselves known and he felt anything but lighthearted.

He gave him a smirk anyway. "Got some of that fake skin stuff. It seals water out. You're bathing if I have to hold your head under. We both reek."

"Hn." Aya let his head sag back toward the countertop, his arms trembling faintly as they held him up. Yohji came back to his side. Looked down at the bent head, the shoulders rounded in pain. And the odd surges of emotion that raced through him almost left him gasping again, like in the garden when Aya had told him his real name. He still didn't try to identify them - didn't want to. Too much, too fast…

"You numb yet?"

"Been numb for hours. Get to it."

With a snort of disbelief, Yohji washed his hands again. Dried them carefully then prepared his tools. There were plenty of pre-threaded, pre-knotted sutures in sealed packages. Someone had known how to pack a real medical kit. He ripped some open and turned to Aya. After tapping on the man's back near the wound and getting no blatant flinches, he pressed the skin carefully together again with one hand while he neatly set stitches in the worst part of the wound. They looked like even more of a violation than the wound itself, dusky thread piercing ivory-pale skin. He wiped away the resultant blood, then checked to see if more would be necessary. Figuring the ones he had done to be enough, he cleaned the skin thoroughly again, applied antibiotic salve and then the fake skin over the entire length, sealing the stitches and the shallower portion of the wound away protectively.

"Uh… feels strange," Aya said as he applied the semi-gelatinous strips. Yohji stayed silent, concentrating carefully on his work, determined that the smooth ivory skin would not be marred by gaps or pulls or bulges in the scar - he wanted it as clean as possible. The strips would set soon, protecting the wound while still allowing it to breathe.

"Yeah, well, in fifteen minutes you can be soaking in the tub. Won't feel so strange then," he said when he was done. Aya looked at him over his good shoulder, eyes gleaming, bangs falling across them. His arms trembled harder now from holding himself propped on the counter for so long.

Yohji found himself wiping the hair back from Aya's eyes gently, gazing into the violet depths and feeling his emotions grind again. Something was rising in him. Something he didn't dare acknowledge yet. He turned way from Aya, moving to the tub. He found a small bamboo stool in the cabinet nearby. A bucket for water. Soap, washcloth and a soft-bristled brush. Then he went back to the waiting man and knelt behind him.

Reaching around Aya's lean hips, he undid his belt and his pants. Slid them down his legs, lifting them one after the other to free him from the filthy confines. He stripped socks away just as efficiently. Then he reached back up and skimmed his underwear away too, pausing only briefly at his thighs to admire the sleek curve of Aya's bare buttocks, marred only by faint smears of blood. So very beautiful.

Aya was watching him from under his arm, eyes half-lidded. Yohji looked up and met his gaze, frozen with his hands resting gently on Aya's narrow hips.

"Can you make it over to the stool?" he asked, his voice husky. Aya didn't answer, simply turned away and took the few staggering steps necessary before he sank down on the stool beside the tub with a soft grunt of effort. Feeling the aftermath of battle in aching muscles now too, apparently.

Yohji quickly stripped himself, aware of his semi-hard erection. Only natural when he was around Aya in any state of undress, but it made him feel strangely self-conscious. He covered it by moving back to the tub and dipping out a bucket of hot water. Then he crouched beside Aya, soaped up the soft brush and began to wash the other man.

Violet eyes just slid closed and the chin tipped back, the normally brutally proud man not even protesting the indignity of being washed like a child. Yohji started with his hands, worked his way carefully up Aya's arms, avoiding his shoulder area, then across his chest. The brush quickly turned dark with old blood and other grime and he rinsed it over and over with water tipped out of the bucket to get it clean, letting the filth swirl away down the drain in the center of the floor. After soaping up most of Aya's front, he set down the brush, lifted the bucket and rinsed him clean.

Rising to dip out another bucket of water from the tub, he felt Aya's hand on his hip. Looked down at him. Aya's head was still tipped back, his eyes closed, and his hand simply lay pale against Yohji's darker skin. Contact. His heart lurched in his chest, pounding slow and hard.

Yohji turned back, crouched, picked up the brush and soap and continued washing Aya. Steadily. Thoroughly. Carefully.

It went on like that until Aya was clean. Small touches to confirm presence. A head leaned against a shoulder. A face turned to follow his movements. All in silence. Even when he urged him to lean forward, bending him low to carefully wash his hair, Aya's hands rested on his thighs, bracing himself against Yohji rather than the tub.

When he raised Aya back up after rinsing his hair, it was to find violet eyes blinking at him through scattered, dripping bangs. One of the pale hands on his thigh drifted inward, brushing against his now fully hard cock. He shook his head gently as he removed the wandering hand.

"My turn to wash," he said quietly. "Tub for you." Aya leaned into him, eyes closed, resting his head against Yohji's shoulder before Yohji pulled them both up and helped the other man into the tub where he settled with a deep sigh.

Yohji stepped into the shower. Turned it on and gave himself a quick, thorough wash, lingering most on his hair. Scrapes and small wounds burned faintly - he scrubbed them ruthlessly clean. There was no proper shampoo, just some generic stuff, and definitely no conditioner, but it was better than nothing. Once rinsed, he shut off the rapidly cooling shower and walked right over to the tub, sinking into it beside an Aya who lay draped carefully over the side, keeping his wounded shoulder out of the water as much as possible despite the fake skin.

"Better?" he said to the back of the red head.

"Hn. Could be hotter."

"Ken used a bunch of water on Omi."

"Hn."

Yohji lay back against the side of the tub, sinking down until his head was the only part of him out of the water. Trying to enjoy the warmth of the water and the relaxation it should bring. Trying not to think. Trying to keep the numb, mechanical feeling going but without any activity to occupy him, his mind immediately fastened on things he'd been trying to avoid.

Aya was Ran.

Ran had a sister he loved enough to kill for. He spent almost all his money on her care. He had kept her existence secret from them all for all this time.

Ran had not meant to survive Takatori's end. Suddenly the visit to Sakura-chan made so much more sense…

He raised hands that trembled faintly and pressed them over his face, digging fingers into eyes that ached suspiciously. He surged out of the tub, unable to stay there a moment longer.

"Yohji…"

"Leave me alone, Aya… Ran… whoever the fuck you are…" He snatched towels, wrapping one around his hips as he slammed out of the bathroom.

The bedroom he'd chosen was dark and the air cool on his damp skin. He shivered as he unrolled the mattress and threw himself down on the dense cotton padding, reminded almost painfully of Aya's bed at the Koneko. The second towel he scrubbed over his head, haphazardly drying his hair as he lay there. There was bedding in a neat stack nearby but he ignored it for now. Welcoming the chill. Drying himself gave him something to focus on.

Something other than Aya and a silence that shouldn't feel like a betrayal, yet did.

Cursing, he pressed the towel tightly to his face. Those were tears of reaction. From the battle. From escaping what should have been certain death. Not tears for all they had done to each other… all they hadn't dared say… were afraid to say…

After an unmeasured while he heard soft footsteps approach and tensed. Felt Aya kneel next to him on the mattress.

"Go away. You don't want to be near me right now." His voice hitched despite his best effort to control it, but the warning had to be said.

"Takatori ran her over like a dog in the street." Aya's voice was low, shockingly steady. "After he had our parents killed and arranged it to look like a murder-suicide. We walked in on their bodies. The house had been rigged to blow. I pushed her outside… but the blast caught us, threw us into the street. I was stunned. She got up first… he was watching. She flew so far, like a rag-doll in the wind…"

Yohji lowered the towel from his face. Stared blankly up at the ceiling, shrouded in shadow. Aya was a pale blur in the dimness beside him, head bowed as he spoke.

"I saw him. In the car. He smiled."

Yohji let his eyes close. Lay still. Trying to slow the pounding of his heart, the sharpness of his breathing.

"She never woke up. She may never wake up…"

Fury raced through him. Raw and savage. He snaked out a hand, fastened it around Aya's arm and yanked the other man down on top of him, ignoring the grunt of pain. His free hand reached up and locked around Aya's throat. He glared into eyes almost hidden in shadow beneath damp bangs.

"Selfish bastard! You never intended to live, did you?"

Aya's throat worked under his grasp, but he didn't speak. Couldn't maybe. Rage unappeased, Yohji released his throat and spun him under him, rolling on top of Aya and pinning him to the hard mattress. Aya fell back, coughing slightly but not struggling.

"Do you still want to die? Bastard!"

Then he bent down and sealed his mouth over Aya's. Prying his lips open brutally, Yohji forced his tongue into his mouth, reaching deep even as his hand slid up and gripped his jaw, pinching it hard and forcing it wider. He savaged Aya's mouth. Tasted the copper-bright tang of blood from a split in a lip – whose, he couldn't tell. Aya groaned, moving under him. He could feel the both of them hardening, heated flesh pressed tightly together. Hunger spiraled. Need fed by the hot, angry demand of mouth on mouth, body on body.

Aya moaned, hands rising to clutch at Yohji's shoulders. Not pushing him away, but gripping him close. And that simple motion fanned his fury. Surrender? Now? It was hollow. A mockery. He reared back, capturing Aya's wrists in his hands and slamming them down hard on the mattress to either side of his head. His eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and he could see Aya's eyes widen, his mouth fall open as he panted for breath, lips gleaming with wetness.

"You said 'mine', Aya… _liar_ … you liar…"

He bent down and fastened his mouth on the tender skin under Aya's ear. Sucked hard. Felt the answering arch in Aya's body. He reached between them, found Aya's ready cock and stroked it. Ruthlessly, steadily. Wanting one thing only.

Aya writhed under him, moaning and grunting. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. He came with a deep shudder and a sound almost like pain.

Yohji gathered up his hot come, smeared it over his own weeping cock. Then he caught one of Aya's legs under his arm, pressing it up as he leaned back. He found the small hole with his finger, wiping semen on it just before pressing his slick cock inside in one hard push. Aya cried out under him, arching up, hands grabbing wildly at Yohji's head and shoulders as he took him with no gentleness and scant preparation. Hard and fast and brutal.

"Yohji!"

He bent low, hips moving in short surges. He pressed his open mouth over Aya's, nipping at his lips, his tongue. Relished his panting breaths, his desperate groans, the fingers clawing at his shoulders as he took him. Aya' s eyes were closed, his face slack with abandon. "Yes. _I'm_ fucking you, Aya. And you're mine… _mine_ …"

He drove into the lean, pale body over and over again. Gloried in the hot clench of it around him, the slick heat, the tangle of Aya's hands in his hair pressing his mouth close. They drank each other's breath, gasping together as Yohji pounded into him. Aya rising to meet him with each thrust, his half-hard cock bouncing between their bellies, face twisted with something that could be seen as either agony or ecstasy.

"Yohji… fuck me… _deeper_ … yes… ah, ah… _yes_ , mine…" Aya saying more against his lips than he ever had before. Aya's hands clutched at him as Yohji rose up, bracing himself over the other man the better to drive deep into him in answer to his plea. To pierce that sleek body. Claim it. One of Aya's lean legs bent around his plunging hips, pressing him further in with each thrust as if trying to negate the limitations of flesh. Holding him. Taking him too.

"Uhn… God! Aya!" He came suddenly, gasping, growling, shuddering. Mind exploding in an endless white-hot blaze. Body bowed over the pale one below him, sweat sealing them together, his arm sliding under Aya's arched back to press him even closer. He held the other man in a nearly crushing embrace for a frozen moment of time, feeling frantic heartbeats racing almost as one until a semblance of sanity returned in a rush.

He collapsed to the side, careful to roll Aya over his unwounded shoulder. Concern flaring now, too late, for his recently sewn wound.

"Did it tear?" he asked anxiously, running his hand up Aya's back to check for fresh blood. Aya shook his head once even as Yohji's fingers brushed the faintly sticky fake skin and found it intact. He didn't find anything more substantial than sweat around it. Relief flooded him. "No. Good."

Aya had his arms around his neck, his face tucked under his ear. His breath was like puffs from a hot bellows against him, slowing gradually. Yohji cradled him close, still buried inside him. They were both hot and sticky and sweaty now.

"Well, so much for all that work in the bath…"

"Shut up, Kudoh." The words were a breathy whisper tickling his skin, lacking all venom.

He smiled, the ache in him subdued for the moment but not defeated. It lurked, waiting for him. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Aya's hair wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever, immobile with this man wrapped tightly in his arms. But he was already cooling, a shiver racing over his skin in warning.

"Hey. We need blankets."

"Hn." Aya was limp in his arms, his breathing already slowed almost to the level of slumber. Drained beyond exhaustion from the day of battles, from his wounds, from Yohji's demands.

With a sigh, Yohji slid out of his body, earning a little pout of sleepy dismay from Aya. A look that had him staring down into the other man's face for a long moment, fighting a tightness in his throat. He laid him carefully down on the mattress, arranging his limbs so that he wouldn't strain his shoulder any further. Aya sighed in his sleep, hand sliding across the mattress until his fingers brushed Yohji's arm before falling still again.

Chest aching, Yohji moved reluctantly to the side and caught up a thick comforter from the pile of bedding provided. He spread it over Aya gently, pausing to stroke damp bangs back from the pale, shadowed face. Staring down at an Aya he'd never fully seen before – relaxed, peaceful. That perpetual tension was still missing and for the first time he could see how young Aya was.

Young and hurt and so incredibly exquisitely lovely… all while remaining sharp, masculine and incalculably dangerous.

He caught up another blanket, wrapped it around his body like a shield before retreating to the bench by the wall, slumping there gracelessly.

Where he watched Aya sleep, completely unaware of the tears rolling slowly down his cheeks.

* * * * *

Aya woke at first morning light to find himself sprawled across Yohji's chest, his good arm looped around the man's neck in a decidedly possessive fashion. Yohji was deeply asleep, faint snores issuing from his opened mouth. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was paler than normal under his golden skin tone.

Exhausted.

Aya flushed when he remembered last night. Yohji had tended his wounds, then washed him like a child. He remembered following Yohji here after the other man fled the tub, remembered telling him about his sister… and Yohji's angry reaction.

Yohji had all but choked him. Then he'd fucked him. Hard. And he'd wanted it. Exulted in it. Had savored every hard stroke, every burning strike on his core. He'd fallen asleep beside Yohji last night, secure in the other man's arms, content and satisfied to be possessed.

But that had been last night.

Today everything was different. Today was the dawn of a world without Reiji Takatori.

Today was the first day after Weiß.

He pulled away from Yohji's chest, moving with slow caution, not wanting to wake the other man. Yohji didn't stir.

He was stiff and sore, his shoulder aching with a line of fire, but usable. He slid out from under the blankets and found a pile of more nearby. He grabbed one and wrapped it around his naked body as a makeshift robe. Padding silently out of the room, he slid the door panel all the way closed behind him. They hadn't bothered last night.

Aya explored the house curiously, silently. He had only the vaguest impressions of it from last night. He avoided the one other bedroom with a closed door. He remembered seeing Omi sobbing in Ken's arms last night and presumed the other two were sleeping there. He discovered clothing stored in one of the unoccupied rooms. Dressed himself in loose sweatpants and a vastly oversized sweatshirt, grateful to find something he could pull on despite the fact that he couldn't raise his sword arm above shoulder height right now.

He brewed tea in the kitchen. Sipped it on the porch while he watched the rising sun set the morning mist that clung to the concealing pine tree belt aglow with a faint peach glow. Birds chirped in the trees. The sounds of human activity came only dimly through the encircling trees as the neighborhood beyond slowly awakened.

He found his sheathed katana lying on the gravel path outside, tangled in wire. He brought it to the porch and meticulously cleaned it. Hands moving with automatic competence at the task, mind curiously blank as he polished away every last trace of Takatori's blood.

He laid the sheathed sword on the porch when he was done. Reluctant to bring it indoors.

It was growing late, but not so late that his exhausted companions needed to be awakened. Yesterday had been brutal. Rather than think on it more, he busied himself by gathering up all the bloody, filthy clothing and dumping it into the needlessly complex washing machine. Showered again, avoided looking in the mirror at the tell-tale mark under his ear as he shaved. Cleaned up and organized the bathroom and the medical kit. Took shoes outside. Ran the clothes dryer.

After several hours, he heard the crunch of feet approaching the house across the gravel path.

Alerted and wary, he palmed one of the kitchen knives in his good hand and circled to the far side of the encircling porch, pacing silently around to the side where the noise had been.

He stopped at the corner. Stared.

Aya had never seen Manx dressed in anything save her signature red suit and dangerous heels before, but it was clearly Manx. Her mass of flaming red hair was drawn back into a tight knot on her neck. She wore a slim black dress, a matching short jacket over it and ankle boots with a far more practical heel. Her face was paler than normal, her eyes rimmed in red.

"Manx," he said softly from the shadows. She whirled, the gun she held becoming visible behind the sleek purse she carried. He frowned at her. Yesterday he'd felt that gun press against his own temple. Of course he'd also felt those long-nailed fingers gently stroke his hair as he lay in her lap after Persia rescued him from a brutal trap set by Schwartz.

"Abyssinian," she said, lowering the gun slightly. "Bombay and the others… are they here?"

"Bombay led us all here," he confirmed, gaze narrowing at the obvious relief that crossed her face. "My sister?"

"Tomoe-san is with her at the hospital. No one had disturbed them," she said, her eyes gleaming in the morning light. "Weiß's security hasn't been compromised any further. They entered the flower shop, questioned Momoe-san and pasted up fliers of you four, but no formal charges were filed. With the lack of procedure Special Forces practiced, there is no evidence of any kind that you four were other than the subject of harassment by Takatori's men – along with hundreds of other innocent people."

"Hn. Weiß," he snorted, flipping the knife out in his hand so that she could see it. Letting her know that he hadn't been lax on her approach. He folded his arms over his chest, careful not to strain his wounded arm. She watched him warily, a frown on her face. She knew she had nothing left to hold him with. He had no further need for Weiß. She could take that information back to Kritiker, but he was certain they already knew their pawn had found his escape route.

"Where is Omi?" she finally asked.

"Sleeping."

"Not any more." They both turned at the soft words to see a blurry-eyed Omi standing wrapped in a blanket in the doorway, a dart clutched in his hand. "Manx, you should know better than to try to sneak up on us."

With a decidedly watery smile, Manx moved over to the boy and wrapped him in a tight hug. Aya lowered his gaze politely as Omi wrapped his arms around her in return.

"Uncle…?" he asked hesitantly. Manx just held him tighter, her slender shoulders tensing.

"The building was gutted."

Aya felt a surge of dark satisfaction at the news. Nothing left. Of any Takatori. The entire clan, wiped out. Omi, as he'd already told the boy, wasn't a Takatori. He was Omi Tsukiyono. It was his own name. He had his own destiny now, regardless of his origin.

Just as Aya Fujimiya did.

* * * * *

Yohji woke to the sound of voices. Two of them he expected, and while the third wasn't unknown, it was definitely unwelcome. Aya and Omi and Manx. If she was here, then reality was about to return with a vengeance. He sat up with a groan, cradling his aching head in his hands.

It was late morning outside, by the slant of the sun. Far later than he'd expected to sleep. But then, he hadn't really expected to sleep at all. After covering Aya with a blanket, he'd sat on the bench watching him sleep for what felt like hours. It was only when Aya grew restless, frowning in his sleep, muttering and reaching out, that Yohji had returned to the bed. Sliding in beside the other man, he had been strangely dismayed to have him settle immediately back into easy slumber upon his return. Aya had curled up against him like a cat, head pillowed on his chest.

He had no idea how long he'd lain awake after that. All he had been aware of was the feel of Aya against him, his hair the texture of thick silk under his gently stroking hand.

Fighting back the memories, he threw off the blankets. Scratched at his belly as he gave a stretch, grimacing as white stuff flaked off his skin. He was dying for a cigarette. Rising to his feet, he padded over to his coat. Grimaced again as he pawed through the smelly, filthy thing until he found his pack of cigarettes. Crushed but still usable. Looking around, he stuck a decidedly bent cigarette between his lips then froze at the sight of his clothes lying clean and neatly folded on the bench beyond.

Someone had done the wash already. He hated it when someone did his wash for him. He'd meant to start that last night. Cursing under his breath, he snatched his underwear off the pile. Stepped into them and then his pants. Deciding that was enough modesty for Manx, he slid the door open and wandered out into the main room as he lit his first cigarette of the day.

"Good morning, Yohji-kun," Omi said from within a cocoon of blankets in his position on the floor at the breakfast table. He looked much better today, but also like he hadn't been up very long. Not Omi then. That left the mysterious launderer as Aya, who was fully dressed. He met the cool violet gaze on the far side of the table carefully. Manx was standing by the outside door, a cup of steaming tea held between both hands. Her amused gaze raked over him, lingering on his bare chest before flicking back to his eyes. He just sucked on his cigarette and narrowed his gaze back in return. Not in the mood for any kind of flirtatious games this morning.

"Mornin', chibi. Better today?"

Omi flushed brightly and ducked his head. "Hai, Yohji-kun. Thank you for understanding last night."

Yohji let a smile touch his eyes at last. "It's not me you should be thanking, Omichitti. Thank Kenken."

"I will. I have. I just wanted to thank you too." His flush was even brighter now, and Yohji frowned slightly. He hoped that flush just meant Omi was feeling self-conscious about his breakdown last night and not that anything… untoward had happened. But with Ken? He frowned more, remembering Ken's strange reaction to finding him and Aya together. No. A confused Ken was just a gauche and awkward Ken. Hopefully he hadn't said anything too wounding to the kid last night… He'd have to find out later.

"Where is Ken?" Manx asked, a frown on her face now too. She was sensitive to any nuances about Omi.

"I'll get him," Aya said quietly, rising gracefully to his feet. Yohji moved further into the room, giving him plenty of room to pass him. He tried not to let his gaze linger on the distinctive purplish bruise under Aya's ear. Or the finger-marks on his pale throat. Manx took a sip of her tea, watching them carefully over the rim.

"Yohji-kun, do you want some tea?" Yohji moved over to the table and deliberately settled on the cushion Aya had vacated. It was still warm.

"Yeah, better get started right…" With a small smile, Omi poured tea into a fresh cup and handed it to him.

There was a heavy thump from the back of the house, then a pounding of feet on the wooden floor. A rather harried-looking, frantic Ken barged into the room, eyes wild until they settled on Omi. He was dressed in his own pants, the bandage on his leg visible through the cut they'd made in it yesterday, and one of the sweatshirts from the stock in the house. Navy blue and far too large, just like the one Aya was wearing.

"There you are… shit, scared the hell out of me, Omi," he said before walking over to ruffle the kid's hair. "How you doin' today?"

"I'm fine, Ken-kun," Omi smiled up at the soccer player sunnily, the faintest flush on his cheeks and Yohji almost swallowed his cigarette. "I just didn't want to wake you." Oh. Shit. Ken was a dead man if that look meant what he thought it meant… that would be taking advantage pure and simple… But Ken wasn't acting guilty so… Yohji swallowed his questions instead of his cigarette and drank his tea. Aya came silently into the room and frowned at Yohji for taking his place. He settled across the table without argument instead and Yohji passed his cup across to him without having to be asked. Ken took a fresh cup from Omi, sucking down half of it in his usual noisy way.

"Well, ahem, now that you are all here…" Manx drew their attention, then she walked over and sat down gracefully beside Omi, drawing a goggle-eyed stare from both Ken and Yohji. Manx had never been so casual around them before.

"There are things we need to do to protect you four. Weiß's security wasn't fully compromised, but undue attention was drawn to the four of you by Takatori's actions. You will all need to lie low for a while. Kritiker has prepared cover identities and jobs for all of you. As the political situation stabilizes, we will be back in contact with all of you to let you know the future of Weiß." She reached into her purse and drew out four fat, sealed envelopes.

"No." The voice was cold as ice. Hard and determined. Aya.

They all looked at him; Omi with eyes wide in alarm, Ken with brows lowered in confusion, Yohji impassively but with a clawing dread in his gut. Aya was ignoring them all, glaring at Manx, his hands fisted on the table in front of him.

"I have no more need for Weiß."

She met his glare steadily, her eyes narrowing faintly. "You are certain?" she asked.

Aya nodded once, sharply, without breaking eye contact with her. "As certain as I am that you understand the full parameters of the deal I made with Kritiker. Conditions have been met. I expect Kritiker to live up to their end of the bargain."

Aya's eyes were like frozen ice, matching his voice, glittering and hard. Manx let her lip curl up slightly. Not a smile, really, more of a show of respect to a wily player. Yohji sucked deeply on his cigarette, hoping it would calm his jittering nerves. He understood. Oh, yes, he did.

It explained the peace he'd seen on Aya's face last night. He'd known he had a way out. That the unexpected had happened and he'd survived revenge to collect the true prize. _Freedom_.

"Then in light of your decision to separate from Weiß, I'll wait to speak to the others until you leave." She lifted one of the envelopes in front of her seemingly at random, slit it open with her fingernail and rifled through the contents. She took out several sheets of paper, scanned them quickly before dropping them back into her purse, then tossed the opened envelope and the rest of its contents across the table. It skidded to a halt beside one of Aya's clenched fists, but he made no move to pick it up. He still had not looked away from her.

"Manx! Wait… you don't mean… Aya-kun!" Omi glanced between the two of them frantically, eyes wide in panic now. Ken was just gaping, too surprised to comment. Yohji swore viciously under his breath and crushed out the butt of his cigarette in his empty teacup. Shook a new one out of the pack with hands that he fought hard to keep from trembling and lit it.

"Got you a special deal, did you, Ran?" he heard himself say mockingly as he blew out a fresh stream of smoke. Aya's gaze flicked to him at that, but shifted back to Manx. "Guess you best pack, then, and be on your way."

That drew Aya's frigid glare over to him for good. It bit into him like a knife; indifference, cool control, determination. Striking deep. And he wanted to scream and rage and throw the other man over his shoulder and haul him off to the bedroom and fuck him until he understood what he was giving up but… he couldn't. Not if Aya had found a way to escape this life that would destroy them all sooner or later. Even Omi, despite Manx's best efforts.

"Yohji-kun!" Omi said, shocked. Ken frowned at him, glancing between the two of them in puzzled confusion. Yohji almost laughed just for that. Poor Kenken. He just didn't get it, did he?

"It's been fun, Aya-Ran," he said, sticking his cigarette between the frozen curve of his lips and giving a short little salute with his free hand. "Have a nice life." He hated this… he hated pretending… and he hated Aya. God… why had he… how had he let himself… When _would_ he learn? Tattooing it on his fucking skin hadn't done him any good. He needed it branded into his brain.

Aya moved then, lids flickering down to cover that icy gaze at last. Then he reached out and picked up the envelope. Omi hissed in a surprised breath, but bit it off. He was a bright boy. He'd figured it out too. Sorrow and regret darkened the wide navy-blue eyes. Ken frowned a moment at the table before raising his head and glaring narrowly at Aya, angry and confused and maybe a little envious. Looking almost as if he wanted to launch himself at the other man, but he managed to contain himself, which was a good sign given Ken's recent tendency to berserk rages...

"Good luck," Ken just ground out instead, surprising him. It was about the only thing any of them could say without sounding like a fool.

Aya rose silently to his feet, the envelope clutched in his hand, eyes downcast. Then he turned and disappeared into the inner part of the house again.

When he was gone, Omi turned to Yohji, his eyes wide with pained disbelief.

"Yohji-kun, you can't just let him go like that…"

"Watch me." The words came out with a stream of smoke, sounding cool and composed. Inside he was fighting the guilt and resentment and self-hatred that had surged high once more. Aya clearly didn't give a shit, so why the hell did he think he rated, anyway? Sins like theirs earned no reprieve…

Omi flinched and huddled deeper into his blankets, looking pinched and miserable again. It was too bad it happened this way, but the boy did need to be reminded that they weren't just a slightly odd little family here. They were an assassin team. They killed together. And that was all. Yohji let out a soft sound of annoyance with his next breath of smoke, wondering just who in the room had _really_ needed to be reminded of that fact.

Certainly not Aya.

"It's for the best, Omi," Manx said quietly, her expression somber. "His focus is gone. He would only be a detriment to the team."

Omi just shook his head in dismay, huddling deeper into his blankets. Ken was staring out the open panels into the garden, a hard look on his face. Manx looked at the three of them, frowning in concern, her gaze lingering longest on Yohji.

"Got one of those envelopes for me?" Yohji asked her, smoothly distracting her from whatever speculation she was working on. Hopefully not the truth. He didn't need Manx wondering if Yohji Kudoh was going to be a security risk in the future because he'd been stupid enough to fall… to _have had a fling_ with their soon-to-be-ex leader.

"Yes. But I prefer to wait until Fujimiya-san has left the premises before I begin."

The lack of a code name was not lost on him. Yohji climbed to his feet with a snort, running a hand back through his tumbled, tangled hair with deliberate ease.

"Then I'd best hurry him along. I'm anxious to get settled in my own place. Can't be without a date too long, you know, or skills atrophy." He strolled away, avoiding Omi's curiously betrayed looking eyes and Ken's blank anger.

The panel at the far end of the central hall was open. Aya stood on the porch outside, framed in the doorway. He'd pulled his tall boots back on. He held his sheathed katana in one hand, and his head was bowed as it had been in the garden last night. The only real difference was that the long leather coat was probably taking up most of the bag that lay at his feet.

Yohji came to a stop in the doorway, leaned as casually as he could manage against the jamb, then folded one arm across his chest as he raised his cigarette to take another deep drag. He was quaking inside, but, by whatever was left in this world that was holy, he wasn't going to show it to this man.

The air between them fairly snapped with tension, electric and sharp. His pulse was throbbing hard in his throat, making his breath hitch slightly. And it annoyed him because he'd known all night that this moment was coming. No matter what words had fallen from those perfect lips.

Aya raised his head slightly, eyes hidden by the fall of bangs. Yohji just lifted his chin, a determinedly wry smile tugging at his lips, even as a brooding darkness gathered around his heart.

"At least say goodbye to the chibi."

Aya's chin lifted further. Red bangs slowly fell away to reveal violet eyes like pools of water, shimmering and bright. But only for an instant. Then it was as if a switch had been thrown and the ice returned. Aya gazed at him, calm and controlled, all frailty hidden.

After a moment, Aya gathered up the bag in his free hand and strode purposefully across the porch, stopping in front of him. Cool violet eyes stared into emerald green again. Lips parted.

Then Aya turned and walked away.

And Yohji just watched him go, staring through the rising veil of smoke from the cigarette that burned unheeded between his fingers until long after the slender figure had vanished into the glare of the midday sun.

\- - fin - -


	6. Circle

* * * * *
    
    
    What kind of love is this that keeps me hanging on  
       despite everything it's doing to me,  
    What is this love that keeps me coming back for more  
       when it will only end in misery...
    
    Circle - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Her name was Kyoko. Yohji Kudoh tried to remind himself of that, but each time he caught a glimpse of her face from the corner of his eye as he drove his heart jumped in his chest and his mind whirled.

 _Asuka._ Spunky. Challenging. Infuriating. Beautiful. He missed her so. The ache of the old hurt was almost as strong as the new. Everyone he'd ever loved had left him behind...

"What is it?" she said in that soft voice that teased at his mind. Like yet unlike. Asuka had been brash, confident, open. This woman was mostly subdued and modest, like a good Japanese woman should be, yet seemed to burn with teasing hints of that inner fire Asuka had shown so fearlessly.

It was there in the way she looked at him sometimes. A sharpness. Almost as if...

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping away the pensive frown with a smile and trying to gather up his fraying charm. "It's just that you seem so much like someone I once knew."

His Seven was purring along the highway, smooth as glass. He had the roadster's top down for the sheer romance of it and to enjoy the beautiful day as they drove higher into the mountains. She gave him a small smile as she brushed the dancing hair out of her eyes. Away from that tiny mole below her left eye. The one that was so eerily similar to Asuka's...

"No, I'm Kyoko," she said again, that flare of something showing in her seal-brown eyes again before she dropped her gaze demurely, a slight frown on her glossy lips. "I thought it was cute at first, but if you're serious..."

"No, no," he said, smiling winningly at her as he glanced away from the road and let his eyes twinkle at her over his sunglasses. "Kyoko, I'm so pleased you've agreed to come with me for the weekend. The cabin is quite lovely, I assure you, but not half as lovely as you are..."

Chalet Weiß. Not a place that anyone else would be using anytime soon, he was certain, here in the mountains on the way between Nagoya and Tokyo. There were two overnight bags behind the seats and an elaborate hamper of food that he'd purchased. He very badly wanted to spend this time alone with her. He needed to find out for sure. And then... then maybe he could forget cold violet eyes and a lean figure that silently turned and walked away.

His life had been very unsettled since that bloody night three months ago, Yohji acknowledged darkly. He still hadn't found his inner balance - on his own, with a new identity, in a new city - and was trying very hard to forget the recent past and everything that was now far beyond his reach. He'd thrown himself into clubbing and dating again. Yet was very careful, in his restless prowling, to choose as partners only older women who had been around a bit. Women who knew better than to expect anything more than what they got; a strenuous night in bed and a cheerful kiss goodbye in the morning. There were plenty of beautiful women like that in Nagoya. Too many. Just as there were far too many beautiful young men looking for the same thing... but none that he allowed himself to approach.

Then had come the day he'd seen Kyoko by purest chance on the street. Seen her and chased her down like a schoolboy after a favored screen idol; astonished and flustered and awkward. All the things he hated so much to be. He'd stumbled through their first meeting like an idiot - she should have run from him in horrified disgust, yet here she was at his side.

"Ah, well, I'll soon see, won't I?" she said the small smile back on her lips as she leaned toward him. She wound her arm about his shifting arm and leaned her slender body against his. He felt a surge of heat pass through him, a body-memory that was eerily like flashes of past times with Asuka in this car, scrambling his breath and his thoughts even as he jerked his attention back to the road.

"You know, being here like this with you... it reminds me of someone I used to know..." she said, her voice so soft that he almost couldn't hear it. He cocked his head toward her even as he caught a glimpse of a familiar car in the rearview mirror. The same sedan that had been following them since just outside the city, his cautious mind noted. Then thoughts of the car behind him vanished as she stroked her hand down his side to his thigh and said, "I feel as if I've done something like this with someone like you before."

Her hand drifted further down his thigh, running along the inseam of his pants. Teasing him. And he glanced briefly down into dark eyes that seemed so familiar and so long-sought that his foot pressed down almost involuntarily on the gas, his trusty Seven leaping forward in response. Like his blood.

Damn it, her name was Kyoko.

* * * * *

Three months. It had been three months since Takatori's end.

Manx's envelope had contained more options than he had expected. There had been a choice of cover jobs offered inside as well as a list of available hospitals of a caliber to adequately attend to his sister's needs. The severance account provided was quite substantial. Perhaps he had been a favored pawn after all. But Kritiker's approval didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was his sister.

He had chosen a job based solely on the hospital he preferred for her. By the sea. Away from the noise and the chaos of Tokyo as an alarmed and ashamed Japan tried to recover from the shockingly successful dictatorial coup from within. International relations had become quite strained as the world nervously watched their housecleaning efforts.

Efforts that he knew were ultimately in vain. The corrupt found ways to survive even under the spotlight of exposure. They spun horrors clean through rhetoric and manipulation. Wiggled out of punishment through loopholes in the law. Then laughed privately and did it all over again. Which was exactly why Weiß had existed in the first place. But it had never been his first concern. His first concern had always been for his sister; to avenge her, to tend her, to see her remain safe from further harm. Barely daring to hope that someday he might see her smile again, hear her laugh, know that she was happy.

"Oi! Aki! Get your butt over here, kid. We need that section now."

He still thought of himself as Aya Fujimiya despite the new identity of 'Aki Suzuki' he had been given. He still stubbornly held a place for her in the world with his unworthy presence.

Aya turned from his blank contemplation of the sunlit sea, aware of the weight of the loops of cable on his shoulder but oblivious to the burden. The sword slash there had healed clean and with barely a scar. It caused him no pain. He carried the heavy cable over to where the rest of the crew was working on laying fiber-optic lines to bring internet and high-speed data connections to this outlying area. The advance of technology and the sprawl of society was inevitable. Soon even this peaceful little backwater would be swept into the dark decay of modern times.

The work was mindless and physical. Numbing. Like his life. He worked. He slept. He sat at his sister's side. He tried not to think. Thinking often brought to mind tangled dirty-blond hair and pained green eyes hidden behind a veil of smoke.

Omi had found him after only a week. The laptop had been special-delivered to his apartment. His first impulse had been to destroy it. He opened it instead. Then it had taken two days of staring broodingly at it before he turned it on.

The boot-up message had sent a surprisingly strong twinge through him. 'Be well, Aya-kun.'

He had logged into the anonymous email account included on the machine. Read the backlog of chatty, harmless messages from Omi. There had even been one from Ken.

There was a wealth of information buried beneath the apparent mundanity of Omi's messages. More than enough to tell him that Manx had yet to contact Omi or the others about resuming Weiß. The boy was enrolled in his final year of high school, giving it his full attention for the first time in his life. And he was supremely bored - Aya could read that between the lines as well. Omi was far too intelligent for an average school, yet now couldn't attend top ranked classes for fear of drawing untoward attention to himself. He should be preparing to take the exams that would earn him the qualifications to enter the best university in Japan. But he dared not.

Because the enemies of Weiß still existed. Schwartz and their masters lurked somewhere in the world.

Aya worked through the day beside men he couldn't name until it was finally time to stop working for the night. He returned to his tiny apartment to eat his meager dinner, wash and change before going to visit his sister at the hospital. The motions were automatic. The routine well-known.

Ken was teaching physical education at a private suburban Tokyo high school. The perfect job for him, Omi enthused. And indeed, in Ken's one message, the former J-Leaguer had even sounded content. Omi, however, was beginning to fuss over current affairs. There was a serial killer making headlines in Tokyo. His messages were filled with a sense of helpless frustration. It was clear he was wanting to hunt this dark beast.

He had not answered any of the messages he received, yet still they came. He read every one.

Aya arrived at the hospital, made his silent way past the watching nurses. He knew they thought him heroic and tragic for his devoted care of his comatose sister. They also all knew better than to attempt idle talk with him by now. He would not be drawn.

In all these months, Omi's only mention of Yohji had been to say that he was working as a detective again in Nagoya.

He found that one message open on the screen more often than not. Found himself simply staring at the characters that made up the other man's name until they blurred and ran. Then he would close down the laptop and go visit his sister. Like tonight.

The small hospital where she stayed was high quality despite its size. Exclusive and discreet. The buildings were functional yet graceful and positioned near the sea, facing east with windows that actually opened in order to catch the salty breezes. She had always loved the seashore. He brought her fresh flowers every day. Sat by her side with his hand over the closed fist that held the mate to his earring. Spoke to her when no attendants were around.

Takatori was dead. He had avenged her. Yet still she slept. She had not marked the event at all, lost in the darkness of endless slumber. He had knelt beside her for hours, night after night, listening to her slow, quiet breathing all while he fought the ache in his heart.

He paused at the top of the stairs, alerted suddenly by the silence in the upper hall. There should have been an orderly doing rounds at this time. Old instincts screamed at him. He scanned the hall warily.

The door at the end of the hall was open. Aya's door.

Sprinting forward, blood pounding sickly in his ears, he burst into her room, prepared to ignore any number of startled questions if it were only a break in normal routine.

Sheer curtains danced in the warm evening breeze that blew through the wide open windows, carrying the tang of the sea inside. The vase of flowers he had brought yesterday was smashed on the floor. The slumped body of the missing orderly lay in the far corner of the room, but he had eyes only for the bed.

Empty. The blankets were tumbled over the side. The sheeted mattress had been slashed brutally open in the shape of a cross.

Empty. And yet there was no blood.

"Aya." He stumbled forward, fell down beside that defiled bed. Clutched scattered sheets between his trembling hands. " _Aya!_ "

His sister was gone.

* * * * *

The evening had gone well, he supposed, if getting the woman into bed had been the sole object of the exercise. Yohji stood on the deck outside the main bedroom of the cabin dressed only in low slung pants as he smoked a cigarette in the deep silence of night. The stars were bright enough up here in the mountains, he knew, so that if he turned they would show him the bed inside and the woman sleeping, sated, upon it. He stared up at the stars glittering coldly in the sky instead.

Her hand had been busy on him in the car. She'd teased him with expert skill to the brink more than once, nearly threatening their lives on the increasingly demanding mountain turns until he'd finally pulled over at a view point and pinned her to the seat, breathing heavily as he ravaged her mouth.

Soft. Her mouth was too soft and yielding under his. The sounds she made were all wrong.

It hadn't mattered with the virtually nameless, endless parade of women he'd bedded since arriving in Nagoya. But if she was truly a version of Asuka, his heart's desire... then why did it suddenly feel so wrong to kiss her? Why was he expecting violet eyes?

He had pulled away from her with a murmured apology for his roughness, shocked at the direction of his wandering thoughts. A direction he'd carefully prevented them from going for the past three months. His detective's eye noted the passing of the trailing sedan. Noted it's hesitation. The woman had seemed strangely subdued after that encounter too. The stroking teases stopped. But the heated glances, the tongue that licked along parted lips, the sharply in-drawn breaths continued as he drove them to the cabin.

She wanted him, that he knew for certain. But now he was no longer certain he wanted her, and yet he still needed to be sure.

They had arrived near sunset to find Chalet Weiß exactly as he had last seen it. Vacant, but with everything prepared for use at a moment's notice. Omi's work, of course - and he carefully stopped his recollection from going any further than that.

He had sent her off with a gentle smile for the refreshment of a shower - that salaryman's version of foreplay - and then set about creating the perfect romantic scene. A fire in the hearth that had a soft carpet in front of it. A low table beside the couch set with a cold meal of things that could be easily eaten with the fingers. A bottle of excellent red wine opened to breathe. Dozens of candles glowing scattered about the room like stars. Perfect.

The only thing missing was flowers. Roses. But he'd been unable to buy flowers. No, unwilling.

She had emerged from the shower wrapped in one of the robes that had been left in the bathroom. The short one. Ken's. Chasing the intrusive thought away, he had gone to her, drawn her down on the floor in front of the fire and proceeded to seduce her over the next few hours. Talking nonsense, teasing her, feeding her from his own fingers, drawing out smiles and sighs. Trying in vain to learn all he could about her.

Yet the seduction itself had been easy. She'd all but melted into his arms; drawn him eagerly to the bed when the time came, all the odd darkness in her eyes long banished. And when he'd been buried in her body, her slender limbs wrapped around him, he'd found himself choking on his own breath, his throat tight as he closed his eyes against the sight of her dark brown eyes blank with passion.

He'd finished as fast as he could, awkwardly and not with his usual finesse at all. All the while fighting himself to keep from turning away from her entirely. She wasn't quite Asuka - not the Asuka he remembered - but she was close enough to prove to him what a fool he was for thinking he could forget cold violet eyes so easily...

And so here he was, standing outside smoking in the chill of the night and wondering how the hell he could cut this weekend short without a furious scene.

It was the barest sense of motion behind him triggering assassin-trained reflexes that saved his life. He got a hand up in between the wire and his throat even as the loops closed tight around his neck. The impact of knees against his lower back forced him forward over the railing, the rough wood biting into the unprotected skin of his stomach as his cigarette spiraled away in a shower of sparks. He felt his attacker draw hard on the ends of the wire and through the blood roaring in his ears could hear the frenzied, high-pitched grunts of effort as they struggled to choke the life out of him.

Blood ran hot as the garrote sliced into his hand and the side of his throat. He sucked what air he could frantically. His attacker was perched on his back, forcing him down. He had no leverage to fight back. With one hand trapped, most of his weight thrown forward over the railing, and bare feet slipping on the wooden deck, he was nearly helpless.

His next impulse was to tumble them both over the high railing and hope to crush the other beneath him on the dirt below, but before he could act on it something white swooped out of the darkness and struck his assailant in the face. There was a gasp of startled pain, then the weight vanished off his back. He twisted around, desperately clawing wire away as he choked for air. He dimly heard the pounding of feet behind him as his attacker fled down the outside steps.

It was a piece of his own wire. His mind fastened on that fact as he noted the gleam of a dark visor covering the face of his attacker, chillingly familiar despite the impossibility of it, even as a second shadow raced across the clearing below in pursuit. The bizarre scene was illumed clearly by starlight.

The second figure was a man. Dark haired. A curiously relieved face turned up toward him as he gasped out a harsh curse, starlight showing him handsome features marred by a brutal scar on one cheek. Distinctive, but Yohji didn't recognize him. And then the man was gone, crashing off into the underbrush after his recent assailant.

Yohji staggered to his feet, the strand of wire clutched in a bleeding hand. Knowing, even before he turned to look in the bedroom again, that the woman who had called herself Kyoko was gone. That she had never truly been there.

Because an old enemy had just tried to kill him. And she was supposed to be dead.

Something white lay on the starlit floor beyond the open sliders leading inside the bedroom. He staggered to the door, leaning against it heavily as he stared inside. Wild laughter spilled from his lips as his mind spun in a bemused whirl, caught between past and present, guilt and relief, regret and anger.

He had fucked Neu of Schreient tonight. He longed to see Aya again with a pain sharper than the wounds on his neck and hand.

And a simple paper airplane had likely saved his life.

* * * * *

Aya tore through the hospital like a demon, searching for his sister, searching for any clue, any shred of hope. The orderly in her room was dead. A cross-shaped shuriken had been skillfully placed beneath his ear, the point firmly lodged in his brain. And there had been something familiar about the style of weapon... something that nagged at his thoughts, but was quickly buried by the alternating waves of icy fury and chilling fear that consumed him.

Nurses and orderlies ran about in confusion. No one had seen anything. No one had heard anything. A comatose girl had been kidnapped from a semi-public hospital and no one had even noticed. The hospital director stammered frightened apologies to him, bowing to him over and over. Fists clenched at his side, Aya listened to the man in stony silence. He already sensed conventional means of search would be ineffectual. Futile. Useless.

The slashed mattress had been a taunt - and a message. The work he had done in Weiß was not forgotten. His sins could never be washed away, could never be forgiven. He was a murderer. A killer for hire who had hidden his arrogant inhumanity behind the cloak of revenge. Someone somehow had found him and now his innocent sister was in danger again. Because of him. He did not truly deserve to keep on living, he knew, but Aya had no one else to watch over her. There was no one else but him to save her.

He would do whatever he needed to find her again. To rescue her. Shed any amount of blood. Kill whomever it took. Because he was already far beyond saving. His heart pulsed slow and heavy in his chest, aching. No one could save him. No one cared to save him. And there was no one left now who might even _want_ to try...

He turned abruptly and walked away. Ignored the frantic calls after him, the shouted warning that the police had been called and would want to talk to him.

He went to his car, climbed in and drove off. He passed a police car with flashing lights on its way to the hospital, gaze barely flickering from the road in front of him. His mind had gone blank, whiting out in a haze of terrible urgency and guilt. She was in danger. Because of him.

Back in his apartment, his first act was to retrieve essentials; his katana, a small cedar box that held the few mementos he treasured, and a coat he had hidden away. The deep green duster swirled nearly to his ankles, cut for a taller man. He wore it anyway. The laptop went on the passenger seat beside him in the car, his meager bag of clothes into the trunk. Everything else - including the identity of Aki Suzuki - he left behind without a second thought.

Less than two hours after discovering his sister's absence, Aya Fujimiya was on the road to Tokyo.

There would be no escaping what he had become for her... no escape from life as a killer. Because only a killer could save her now. He had finally remembered where he'd seen that type of shuriken used before. By Hel of Schreient. One of Masafume Takatori's bodyguard/lovers. And he had been the one to deliver the killing stroke to the warped beast that Masafume had become, twisted by his own experimental formula. The women had supposedly died with him in the destruction of his lab, but it had been their sanctuary. They could have had escape routes in place for just such a situation.

If they were alive, then they had taken his sister out of hatred and a desire for vengeance. He could only hope they would want to taunt him with her. Torment him by keeping her out of reach, but not kill her outright. Then he might be able to find her. Rescue her. It was a slim hope, and the only one he had.

But there were other things to dread as well if Schreient was still alive and the rest of Weiß was unaware of it. Schon loathed Ken and wanted him dead. And Neu... The slavery ring Riot had worked for Masafume Takatori. Had gathered samples for him to use in his experiments. Neu could very well be all that remained of Yohji's lost lover, Asuka. The one who plagued his guilty nightmares... the one he dreamed of... the true love he longed for. But now she was a killer who had vowed vengeance against all of them for Masafume's death. Against Weiß. And Yohji. Urgency rose. He had to go back.

The white car sped through the night, the driver's tense face nearly as pale as his vehicle.

* * * * *

"Good afternoon, Momoe-san," Yohji said, smiling down at the old woman as rain dripped off the awning onto the pavement behind him. She stood inside the back doorway of her house, a plump, tiny old woman in a plain print dress - who could have been anywhere from sixty to ninety years old, there was no way to tell - holding an enormously fat cream and orange bob-tailed cat in her arms.

"Ah, another kitten returns."

"Another?" he asked curiously, tugging his water-spotted sunglasses down his nose the better to look at her. She was smiling up at him, her eyes crinkled in that mysterious, all-knowing way of hers, her hand stroking the fat back of her nameless cat slowly.

"Oh, yes. Just two for now, but you'll all return to me soon enough, my kitties. I can feel it," she said, then waved a hand toward the back door to the shop across the alley. "The door is open to you, my lovely sly one. Remember to stock catnip again!"."

He shook his head slowly, a wry smile on his lips. "You're a wonder and a treasure, Momoe-san. How have I lived without you all these months? But I just want to talk to them, not set up shop!"

She just continued to smile up at him, her expression almost exactly matching the satisfied look on the cat's face.

"Hai, obasan," he said patiently, humoring her, before he turned away and dashed across the alley, tugging his coat up over his head again. The rain hadn't let up all day. At least it was a warm rain, even if the humidity made it feel like a sauna outside. He paused under the narrow awning on the shop side of the alley and turned to wave back at the old woman. She was still standing in her doorway, watching him with a smile on her face. She bobbed her head several times in reply

With a soft laugh, he opened the back door of the Koneko and stepped inside the kitchen. Momoe-san had always been an enigma. She had come with the shop, hired by Persia to help provide them cover. He had never known exactly how much she knew about their true activities, but Manx had always treated her with the utmost respect. No one attached to Persia was what they seemed and nothing about Weiß had ever been clear-cut.

The façade of laughter and smiles fell away as he closed the door behind him. He shuddered in the comparative coolness of the darkened building. The sound of the rain was suddenly distant and somber. This was one place he'd thought never to return to. Had hoped never to return to. For many reasons. He glanced at the wall beside the door and was struck with a vivid flash of memory.

 _Aya's lean body pinned by his own, long clever hands trapped above his head, body arching up and mouth opening as Yohji ran his hand down his body and into loosened pants. Finding and stroking the hard length he found there, hearing Aya groan in abandon at his touch..._

He shook his head, fighting away the image. It was harder to fight back the sudden painful bulge in his tight pants. Damn the man. How could a simple memory do that to him? Hell, they hadn't even finished anything that time - Ken had interrupted them. He tugged at the suddenly constricting turtleneck collar of his skin-hugging shirt impatiently. His long jacket swirled around his thighs as he spun and stalked across the floor toward the hall.

No, he was _not_ going to spend his visit here remembering all the times and ways he'd fucked that faithless bastard. That was too much self-punishment even for him.

He walked quickly into the hall, not even trying to disguise his steps. If one of his former teammates was here before him as Momoe-san had said then he didn't want to startle them. That was a bad practice with assassins - ex or otherwise. Particularly if it was Ken. Who knew if he'd had a chance to get over his worrying bloodlust yet? On the whole Yohji was hoping it was Omi. Then he might be able to get some answers.

He hadn't dared return to his apartment in Nagoya to try and contact Omi via his laptop. Schreient had found him there. Somehow he'd been compromised. They might know about the Koneko too, but here, at least, was familiar turf and the possibility of allies. He hadn't forgotten about the strange man who had thrown the paper airplane either. He was still uncertain if he was friend or foe. Omi was the one most likely to know something.

The boy's email messages had increasingly hinted at a strong desire to return to the team - particularly once some twisted pervert started snatching young girls and burning them. Definitely a dark beast, as Omi had longingly said. Poor chibi. It must be a bitch to have known no other real family save a bunch of assassins. And to have been raised as little more than a weapon to be used against one's blood family. He hoped Persia was rotting in hell beside his cursed brother. Whatever bizarre events had twisted Omi's life, however, he still had connections Yohji needed. He knew Manx would never let the boy completely leave her influence.

The third possibility he didn't even seriously consider - didn't let himself. Because Aya had freed himself of Weiß. Aya had no _reason_ to return.

Stifling a surge of bitter anger, Yohji slowly descended the spiral stairs to the old mission room. He paused at the bottom and looked around, an odd pang darting through him as he slipped his sunglasses into his coat pocket. Someone - probably one of Takatori's men - had shot the room up with an automatic weapon. Pure malice, that. Now only half the track lights worked, leaving the room even darker than normal. The huge TV was blown. The concrete walls were chipped and marked with bullet holes. Ricochets must have been a bitch, he thought with a small, nasty twist of his lips. Both couches were partially shredded by gunfire and the carpet was torn. He kicked idly at the pile of loose shell casings that still lay clustered at the base of the stairs as he quickly scanned the room again.

Somehow the gun freak had missed blasting Omi's computer, he noted when he wandered over into the small alcove. He wondered if it had been compromised in some other way instead. Brushing a hand idly over the faintly dusty keyboard, he didn't even try to find out. Knowing Omi, the chips in the thing had likely been rigged to melt down as soon as someone other than him touched it anyway. Which would serve the damn machine right, he thought with a soft snort. It had certainly never behaved properly whenever Yohji was cruising the net for porn.

He turned away slowly. The critical point was that there was no one down here. He would have to check the rest of the building. With a sigh of disgust, he crossed the room to go back upstairs, striding over to the base of the spiral stairs only to come to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of a lean, shadowy figure standing on the last round of steps above him. There hadn't been any warning sounds of feet on stairs.

Then he sucked in a shocked breath at a faint gleam off deep red hair as the figure took one final step down into the meager light.

It was Aya.

Yohji stared up at him for a long moment, just drinking in the sight of the other man. His hair was even more ragged if it was possible, the tumbled bangs concealing his eyes. It looked as if the red hair had only been trimmed once in three months and then badly. The man seemed to have put on a little bulk, however. His muscles looked more defined, sleek and hard under the zippered, long sleeved black shirt he wore, yet his face was as pale as death with shadows under his eyes and lines of strain around his mouth, as if he were near the edge of exhaustion.

Yohji's blood began to throb heavily in his veins; he went instantly hard. _Aya. Here._

Hunger shocked through him. It was all he could do to keep from lunging up the steps and wrapping the other man in his arms. But a spurt of wary trepidation and lingering pride stopped him. He gripped the metal railing on either side of the stairs tightly, breath rasping harshly in his throat

"Bastard! Where the _hell_ have you been?" And he instantly wanted to kick himself for speaking first - and for saying something so stupidly revealing. This was Aya, the man who'd walked away from him without a backward glance leaving him slowly bleeding to death inside, his heart shattered. Something he'd tried very desperately to deny over the past three months but could no longer now that he was face to face with him once again.

Aya took another step down toward him before locking a hand on the railing and clenching it to white knuckles.

"Why did you come back here?" Aya said. His voice was low, a trace of something odd in it. Anger? Pain? Yohji's heart pounded wildly in his chest and he had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. It wouldn't be a happy sound. They stared silently at each other for a tense moment, apparently at an impasse, until finally Yohji moved, sweeping his knee-length coat back and slipping a hand into a pants pocket. Forcing a pose of nonchalance that he didn't feel.

"Well, you certainly haven't changed any, Aya," he said. "Still a sneaky one, aren't you?"

Violet eyes were hooded suddenly by thick lashes. Hiding a flash of emotion. He felt a brief surge of satisfaction that was wiped away almost instantly by Aya's next words.

"Why Nagoya?"

The sharp question surprised him, then anger flared. Aya had known where he was? Any cool, controlled answer he might have wanted to give went right out the window. "Because it wasn't Tokyo," Yohji snapped, glaring. "Damn it, it wasn't _Tokyo_ where I kept looking around for _you_."

Aya's head jerked to the side, eyes closing all the way, his face pale and still like a sculpture.

"I left Tokyo." Then he took another step down the stairs and Yohji could see his arm shuddering, his fingers clenching. As if part of him was trying to keep himself back while another was dragging him forward. Yohji felt something that might be hope stir inside him but forced himself to stay where he was, shoving the feeling down as wounded pride and pain warred with the demanding desire Aya's mere presence awoke.

Aya had been the one to leave. Aya should be the one to make the first move now. But would he?

Three long months of silence had taught him that the other man's sister came first and probably would forever. That anything they'd had between them simply wasn't important enough. And that there seemed to be no room in that cold, guarded heart for anything beyond the sister... and that he would only be hurt again if he thought he could change it.

Yet... Aya had been the one to start this.

Aya had lusted after him in secret for months. Aya had waited up for him on the nights he'd gone clubbing. Taken advantage of those times when Yohji came home shit-faced drunk to steal what he couldn't ask for - what he couldn't even admit to needing; touch, closeness, desire. Moments of human need reluctantly indulged. Until the night he slipped up; misjudged Yohji's drunkenness and was discovered.

Which had ultimately led to Aya's surrender... Yohji stifled a groan at the heated memories as he stared hungrily at the man who had created them. The month they had together had been strangely surreal. Filled with raw lust, wary exploration and a tentative accord that had _seemed_ to grow stronger every day. Until those last few days and those last few hideous missions, when Reiji Takatori finally made his move and took over Japan. During those days, Yohji had learned - painfully - just how little he had truly understood his red-headed lover. Because he'd been abandoned by him to die in Takatori's trap. By the man who claimed to want him. The man who had surrendered his body to him in bed but little of his _self_.

He flashed back to the safe house. To patiently tending Aya's wounds. To listening to the chillingly cool revelation of his past. Then to fucking him, brutally hard, in a vain attempt to get closer to him. Trying to find the truth, somehow, in the passion between them. And then later staring down at an Aya, asleep in his arms, that he didn't recognize. A vulnerable boy-man who had seemed strangely innocent even after that bloody night... Not Aya at all, but Ran... Ran who had become Aya in order to avenge the sister he loved more than anything else...

But it was Aya who had started this between them... Aya who had left... Aya that he...

"Then why did you come back here?" he asked, heart pounding slow and heavy. Fighting the urge to move closer, to put hands on the other man. To pull him into his arms and just hold him close. The way he hadn't truly been able to with anyone else since Asuka. The way he had only been able to do with Aya in those rare moments after sex...

"I don't want to talk now." The quiet words of denial were backed up by still-closed eyes.

"When do you ever?"

"Words are useless. Only actions have meaning."

The violet eyes opened again. Met his angry glare with frustrating inscrutability from the shadows. His pulse throbbed in his ears and steadily rising lust kept him from pressing for more after the dismissive, yet suggestive words. Words that just should have pissed him off, and did on some level, but not enough to matter. Because he wanted Aya. So badly he could taste it. Being without him hadn't made the hurting go away anyway, so why not be with him again? It was the addict's excuse... he was fooling himself...

But with Aya standing in front of him, lean and weary and dangerous, he just didn't care. Aya was _here_. Aya had come back.

Aya walked slowly down the stairs until he reached the final step. Stopped when he was only inches away from Yohji and licked his lips once, leaving a dull shine behind. The height of the lowest riser put him at eye level with Yohji. Long pale fingers slid down the railing and covered his gloved ones. Yohji shuddered at even that much contact, but kept his gaze steady on the other man.

"Then do something, Aya," he demanded, voice little more than a harsh whisper. Lids drooped, hiding violet eyes, and the half-lidded gaze flickered across his face toward his mouth. After a breathless instant, Aya leaned slowly forward until his lips just brushed Yohji's. Tilting his head slightly, he looked at him sidelong, gaze glittering and intent before letting his eyes close again as he leaned into him, pressing their mouths together, a cautious tongue tracing the inner edge of Yohji's lip.

His mind just stopped for a moment. _Aya was kissing him again._ Heat and need and longing exploded through him. If actions were all that mattered... Shaking Aya's hold off sharply, he raised his hand, spreading his fingers wide to cup the back of Aya's head. Holding him firmly in place as he took over the kiss, ravaging the tentative mouth, reveling in the little grunt of surprise, in the feel of Aya's mouth opening wide under his.

His other hand rose up and locked on Aya's upper arm tightly, fingers aching inside his gloves. It was the hand he'd used to keep Neu from choking him to death, cut by wire. The last person he'd kissed had tried to kill him. The one he was kissing now had almost broken his heart. Which hurt more? It was no contest. Rage flared.

He broke away to stare into Aya's face, looking for something to temper his rage. His grip tightened on the hair on the back of the other man's head as he searched, finding little visible but a familiar wary lust and hints of guilt that threatened to send him further into a frenzy.

"I might just have to hurt you."

Faintly swollen lips parted. Heavy eyelids fluttered. "All right."

He snarled, tensing. "That is _not_ a smart thing to say to me here, Aya."

"You talk too much."

"Don't push me..." And even as he leaned down and crushed Aya's mouth again he wondered if Aya was looking for punishment... expected it... wanted it. Because right now, blood running hot in his veins, he was more than willing to give it.

After devouring that pliant mouth for long, breathless moments, Yohji spun sharply around. Bullet casings scattered across the floor at his feet, ringing like chimes against each other. He drug Aya stumbling off the last step with a sharp yank. Shoved him hard toward the nearest wall, then stalked after him, jacket swirling around him. Aya hit the concrete wall with a grunt, automatically catching himself with a shoulder to the wall, a hand bracing him, ready. The red head lifted to face him; eyes narrowed dangerously at Yohji's approach. But he didn't move away. And he _could_ have... actions...

Reckless heat raced through him, fed by three months of denial. Yohji felt a feral smile touch his lips as he stalked closer to the other man. Fight him or fuck him; either would do for now.

"Gonna fight me?"

"No." Aya's face settled into familiar, cool lines. Watching him. Waiting. Anticipation shimmered in the air.

Yohji knew he was perilously close to a dangerous edge. Pushed there by too much longing, too much bottled-up regret - and too many months spent screwing all the wrong people in a fruitless quest to forget this man. His lip curled as he let a wave of dark emotion take him. He advanced deliberately, gaze locked on that controlled face.

"Fight me, Aya."

"No."

He lunged forward. Slapped his hands against the wall just outside Aya's shoulders, caging him between his arms. Aya didn't move. Didn't flinch at all as Yohji glared down at him, head dipping close to the other man's. He took a sharp breath and was unexpectedly overwhelmed by the scent of Aya. The faint spice of his skin. The clean scent of his hair. The distinctive musky aroma of arousal. Familiar and enticing. It made his pulse leap wildly, and fanned desire briefly higher than anger. He took another breath, absorbing it, already deflected from immediate violence. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the very smell of Aya - or that he'd even known it so well.

"...well, then 'fuck' it is," he muttered, mostly to himself, blood throbbing eagerly in his veins, in his wrists, in his groin. Violence transmuted to lust. Aya slowly lowered his chin, his head canting toward the wall. The lowered eyes flickered away and then back, and from Aya that was nearly a shout of need. Yohji stifled a groan, watching him.

He let his gaze roam slowly over the perfect profile. Absorbed it's icy beauty. Pale skin was touched with the faintest flush along arched cheekbones. Tired smudges under downcast eyes made him look deceptively fragile. Crimson strands of disheveled hair clung to lips that were barely parted as Aya drew in short, careful breaths. The sight made his own breath catch in his throat.

The tilted head and flushed face were telling; this was Aya subdued. Submitting to him. But aside from his passively guilty posture, there was no emotion revealed on that controlled, set face. No sign of a torment that corresponded to what he'd endured. No regret. No pain. Rage boiled up again. All those weeks... lonely... aching... and now Aya was giving in to him just like that? Hard, angry words spilled out before he could stop them.

"I made you my mine. Fucked you until you were begging me for more. You were mine to use. So was that all you really wanted from me, Aya? Was it? To be _used_?" He narrowed his gaze, let a vicious twist touch his lips at Aya's continued silence. Yohji reached over and caught the sharp chin between gloved fingers, holding on tightly against the stubborn resistance as he tilted the pale face back. Stared down hungrily. "Are you mine to use however I want now? Are you giving me that? What if this time what I want is to beat you unconscious before I fuck you face down on the floor, Aya, all blood and bruises... would you like that? My uke..."

The red head jerked away sharply. Pride flared in the narrowed eyes that glared up at him from under ragged bangs, the pale face now filled with rage, teeth bared in a silent, defiant snarl. But, oddly, as soon as Aya's anger was revealed his own began to subside. Letting his mind work rationally again and his heart protest. His own pride was greatly soothed simply by cracking that impassive façade and he was already starting to regret his harsh words even as violet eyes glittered at him dangerously.

"You were mine _first_ ," Aya spat. Was that a hint of pain in those flashing eyes? "I had _you_ first, you arrogant prick."

Yohji just smiled, the expression still tinged with an edge of violence even as his temper swiftly faded before anticipatory satisfaction. Name-calling was good from Aya. "So you did." He leaned forward then and nuzzled the tense neck gently. Felt the silk of a long eartail against his face and the throb of Aya's racing pulse under his lips. Definitely good. And he smelled so good. So right. "Do you know what a rarity that is? I don't let just anyone fuck me, you know. So you must be _special_ , Aya."

There was a sharp hiss of indrawn breath and a flinch as he gently nibbled at the soft skin below the unadorned ear. As if tenderness were violence... His tongue darted out and laid a damp line across pale skin. He breathed softly on the spot and a deep tremor ran through the slender body he was almost - _almost_ \- pressed against. His arms quivered as he fought to keep from crushing Aya against the wall. Actions...

"What do you... Don't..." Aya made as if to move away, but froze when Yohji trailed his tongue up edge of his ear. He shuddered again instead.

Caught up in the taste of Aya, the heady scent of him, Yohji found himself breathing dangerous words against silken skin. "This thing between us is more than sex." He felt tension sweep through the other man like a wave. Pressed on recklessly. "You know it..."

"Shut up. _Bastard_."

"...Or you wouldn't be so pissed now," he finished smugly.

"Shut up!" And Aya reached up and captured Yohji's head, wrenching it around to cover his mouth with his, body arching up away from the wall and against him. Yohji wrapped one arm around him in reply, rolling them until his own back was against the concrete wall before bracing Aya's body between his spread legs. He eagerly absorbed the fierce caress, the desperate suck and probe of Aya's mouth, the sharp tug of Aya's hands on his hair. His free hand lifted to the back of Aya's head again, gloved fingers threading through thick hair.

Finally Aya pulled away to pant harshly against his mouth, "God, you never shut up... just let me... I want..."

"What do you want, Aya?" He was in control and knew it. And it felt good.

But Aya surprised him by backing away, but not entirely out of his grasp. One hand lowered the zipper at the neck of the black shirt before both pale hands gripped the hem and stripped the slick cotton off over his head in one quick move, revealing sleek skin, discreetly defined chest, and the hard nubs of pale pink nipples. Yohji reached for him, breath sucking in on a startled hiss of wanting. Aya held still and let him touch him; Yohji instantly cursed the gloves still on his hands. He jerked them back impatiently to tug the gloves off and shove them in a coat pocket. But as he did so, Aya turned away.

"Hey, hey," Yohji protested with quiet urgency, following him a step. But the other man just gave him a smoldering look over his shoulder as he bent down and yanked a cushion away from the nearby couch. He dove down with a hand and came up with a familiar tube.

Yohji's eyes glittered with lust as they met the violet gaze, "You remembered."

Something electric snapped between them. "Yes."

He took the tube from Aya's hand, dropped it into his coat pocket for convenience. Aya came back into his arms like water, flowing against him sleek and powerful. Mouths met in a searing kiss. Yohji ran one hand up into Aya's hair, the other down his bare back as they devoured each other. Aya's hands slid inside his coat and up under his shirt, skimming over his lower back, fingernails raking his skin. He could feel the other man's erection against his thigh, hard and hot.

Breaking away, he stared down into the flushed face. "Now, Aya."

He pushed Aya backwards until his thighs struck the high arm of the couch, then he reached down and caught a lean leg, lifting up and pulling him close, fingers biting into hard muscle. Aya fell back, hips braced on the couch, steadying arm looped over Yohji's shoulder even as he hurriedly toed his low boots off. The motion moved his groin in waves against Yohji's, making him bend his neck and press his face into the hollow of Aya's throat as he sucked in sharp breaths, trying to control himself. So fine...

"Damn it. Too many fuckin' clothes on..." he groaned. Aya didn't answer, but his hand dropped between them, tearing at the fly of his own pants. The back of his hand brushed against Yohji's erection, making him groan and clutch Aya tighter, hips rocking against him.

"Move," Aya hissed. Reluctantly, Yohji stepped back, holding Aya balanced as he quickly stripped his pants and briefs off in one move, kicking them to the floor. He stared down at the now-naked man in his arms, mouth going dry. Aya was hard, his slender cock shiny on the tip and standing up urgently amid the small patch of soft red hair. No denying the need there. Pale legs lifted and spread, wrapping around his hips and pulling him back. Urgent hands tugged at the closings of his pants, finally drawing his aching cock out of the confining leather. It was weeping and hard.

The feel of the other man's hand stroking him sent shock waves of pleasure through his body. He groaned and thrust helplessly forward, crying "Jesus, Aya!"

"What are you waiting for?"

The impatient words made him half-groan, half-laugh. "Keep that up and there won't be any waiting," he muttered, staring down at the other man. The pale face was flushed, lips parted releasing eager, panting breaths. Wanting him. Satisfaction rolled through him and he narrowed his eyes, lips curving in a tight half-smile. "You do it, Aya. Put me in you."

The red head jerked back. Lavender eyes dilated, darkening them as Aya looked back down at his cock, hand tightening on him, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Yohji groaned as strong legs drew him forward, a pale hand lifting erection and balls aside to position him against the hole below without further hesitation. The lean body arched under him, hips rolling back. Opening himself. Breath sucking in sharply, Yohji suddenly had to fight both his own need and the pressure on his butt urging him forward.

"Whoa, easy! Lube first, baby." He braced himself stubbornly, staring down into hazy violet eyes. Aya shuddered under him, rolling his hips impatiently, rubbing against him.

"I don't care..."

"I do," Yohji said through gritted teeth, grimly fighting his own need as well as Aya's. "I'm gonna want to do this again soon and I can't if you're torn up."

With a muttered curse and a sidelong glare, Aya fumbled in his coat pocket with his free hand. Drew out the lubricant and flipped the cap. Squeezed clear fluid over Yohji's cock and his own clutching hand. The cool gush made Yohji gasp and grit his teeth tighter.

"Cold!" He glared into Aya's hooded eyes. A malicious, vaguely satisfied twist that might have passed for a smile curved the other man's lips. Strong legs flexed around him and the slippery hand on his cock stroked him once, spreading lube over him before sliding down to cup his balls. Heat raced through him and his arms tightened around the other man.

Aya's voice was low, urgent. "You're slick. Now _fuck_ me."

"Bastard," Yohji hissed, and thrust forward. Aya's head fell back as his cock pushed against the firm ring of muscle, sliding inside after only token resistance. He paused a moment, trying to catch his breath, eyes squeezed tightly closed, lungs pumping like a bellows. Hot. Tight. Aya. He groaned, shuddering, spreading his legs wider as he tried to keep them both from tumbling over. Aya was balanced precariously on the arm of the couch beneath him, his grip the only thing holding him up.

"Don't stop... all the way." Impatient legs pressed him forward and he surged deep, feeling the heat of Aya's tight passage surround him, stealing his breath. Aya arched toward him with a cry. A hot mouth closed on his throat. He could feel teeth scrape at him even through his high collar, making the wounds on his neck sting. But he didn't care. He was finally inside Aya again after so long. And Aya had put him there.

His mind blanked then and all was motion and heat. Frantic hands raked down his back under his coat, then dragged his shirt up so that skin could slide against skin. Their mouths met, fused, broke apart for air only to lock again and again. Sharing breath and then stealing it. He surged deep, feeling Aya shudder as each thrust struck the core of his pleasure. His own hand was bracing the red head, the other wound around the lean back, holding him up. Legs bent, thighs trembling as he drove into the sleek body over and over again. Until Aya finally wrenched his mouth away to cry out, the cock trapped between hard bellies spurting slick heat everywhere.

But he didn't relent. Pulled out only to drive deep, and then deeper again. Taking his fill of the pale body locked in his arms. Of Aya's mouth under his own, yielding and damp. Reveled in the clutching hands that had dropped to his butt. Felt the hard dig in his surging flesh, spurring him on. Aya cried out again, body bowed and shuddering, head rolled back over Yohji's arm, face slack with passion, mouth trembling, violet eyes unseeing.

He came in a blinding, shattering rush; muscles locking with his cock pushed as far inside Aya's body as he could go, trembling and gasping, mouth gaping as he poured himself into him in an endless burst. Mind and body and heart throbbing as one.

Blissfully sated, Yohji staggered on his feet, listing to the side with a low groan as his shoulder hit the wall beside them hard. He was grateful for it's support. Aya grunted under him, lean arms clutching him close despite the slackness of completion he could feel in the other man's body. The relaxation. The satisfaction. All he wanted to do now was lie down somewhere with Aya and hold him tightly in his arms. Forever.

"Where's the bed?" he muttered hoarsely. The red head burrowed closer, forehead pressed under his chin. Warmth spread through him at the action. His arms tightened around the other man, keeping him close.

"Hn. Upstairs."

"Shit."

He half-lay against the wall in silence for a few more minutes, Aya wound tightly around him, as breath gradually steadied and pulses slowed. He could feel himself softening, however, and knew he'd have to do something about that soon. Not that he wanted to leave the other man's body, but physiology couldn't be reasoned with. He closed his eyes and laid his cheek against the top of Aya's head with a resigned sigh.

Then both of them were stiffening in alarm as they heard heavy footsteps cross the floor above them. Someone had just entered the building through the kitchen door. Assassin's instincts took over. The red-headed swordsman pulled away from him without even a wince, his cock sliding out of him in a rush. Aya's complete attention was already focused on the stairs behind them and the intruder above.

"Damn it!" Yohji muttered under his breath, adjusting himself hurriedly. He ignored the slick mess all over his groin as he zipped up his pants and yanked down his shirt. He was far more ready to deal with trouble than Aya in that instant. He was still fully dressed and his watch weighed heavily on his wrist. Turning, he dug his protective gloves out of his coat pocket and tugged them on. Aya was braced against the arm of the couch beside him, head canted and eyes narrowed as he listened intently. He looked surprisingly dangerous despite his nudity, poised and tense.

Yohji took a step toward the stairs, already drawing a length of wire from his watch. He froze in surprise at Aya's low words.

"It's Hidaka."

The door above them opened and battered, grass-stained sports shoes appeared on the top steps. They _looked_ like Ken's shoes to him, but just to be certain, Yohji strode quickly to the base of the stairs. He glared up at the newcomer sourly, annoyed to have the precious aftermath with Aya spoiled by someone he couldn't kill. Ken stumbled to an abrupt halt, eyes widening as he stared back down at Yohji in open-mouthed shock.

"Yohji! What the hell are you doing here?" Yohji snapped off the now unnecessary length of wire with a small sigh for the waste before letting a mocking smile curl his lips. He was tempted to choke the shit out of Ken for interrupting them anyway, but it had been three months since he'd seen the jock. He should probably make an exception this time.

"Same thing as you, I suppose," he said dryly, aware of Aya gathering up his clothes behind him. "Looking for allies."

"Shit! You too?" Ken took another step down, frowning in concern. "What happened to you?" Yohji held up a cautioning hand at the other assassin, freezing him in mid-step.

"Oi, wait there a minute, would ya?"

"Why?"

Yohji let a knowing smile widen on his face and his eyes twinkle wickedly up at his perplexed former teammate. "I'm not exactly alone down here."

Ken blinked at him in surprise. "Wha--?" Then the look of mingled shock, outrage and resigned disgust on Ken's face almost made him burst out laughing.

Instead, Yohji glanced pointedly over his shoulder, noting as he did so that Aya already had his slacks back on and was currently tugging his shirt down over his head. Pity that. Aya looked wonderful shirtless. His lips quirked. Not that Ken would truly appreciate the view like he did. Briefs lay crumpled on the arm of the couch beside Aya and Yohji astutely concluded that the other man must have used them to clean himself up a bit before dressing. Aya was fastidious that way - Ken would probably faint when he spotted them.

"Am I, _Ayan_?"

Disheveled red hair appeared through the collar of the black shirt and lavender eyes flashed at him in warning as the other man neatly zipped the shirt closed. Aya's face was once more an impassive mask save for the narrowed eyes. Yohji grinned back at him, undaunted. Sex had always improved his temper. Too bad it didn't do the same for Aya... or maybe it was just being interrupted that put him into a foul mood.

"Aya came back?" Ken said, dropping down to sit on the top step, hands dangling over his knees. The tone of his voice was incredulous. Sudden apprehension raced through Yohji, making his body tense and his heart stutter briefly in his chest. Oh, yes. That. And just why the hell had Aya returned? That topic had been neatly sidestepped earlier by mutual lust. He wasn't quite besotted enough to believe it was just for him... not quite, despite the definite twinge that thought gave him. A frown crossed his face as Yohji stared narrowly at his lover where he sat on the arm of the tattered couch, those graceful hands now occupied with pulling on low boots.

"Whoa, Yohji - are you hurt?"

Ken's faintly alarmed inquiry made him frown, but Yohji's attention was focused on Aya as he finished dressing. He was already anticipating getting him out of those clothes again. "What?" he answered absently until he noted the jock peering down at him in concern from the corner of his eye.

"Your collar... is that blood?"

Aya's head jerked up abruptly at the question. Surprised, Yohji felt at his neck automatically but couldn't feel anything through his gloves. He tugged one off and felt at his neck again, drawing the hand back to find a dark smear across his fingertips.

"Well, damn," he said with a quiet hiss of annoyance. "Guess they opened up again." It wasn't much blood, but now he realized just how much his neck was stinging where Neu's garrote had sliced him last night.

"What did? Damn it, you are hurt!" Ken rose to his feet and came down the stairs in a bouncing, urgent rush. Aya strode over to him at the same time, grabbing his upper arm and spinning him around. A pale hand tugged the turtleneck down and both of the other men sucked in sharp breaths as they stared at his throat.

"Hey!" Yohji yelped as bandages pulled away painfully from his skin with the collar of the shirt. Aya rubbing against his neck must have loosened them. "Looks worse than it is," he grumbled, batting Aya's hand away. He imagined the bruising was quite spectacular by now. Particularly when covered with fresh blood. And damn it, this was a silk knit. It would be a bitch to get the blood out of it. Lavender eyes glared up at him through ragged bangs. Shit, was Aya actually worried about him?

"Who did this?" Aya's voice was icy, his expression frozen. The hand Yohji had automatically knocked away closed into a fist in the air before dropping to his side. Ken shifted beside them, glancing from Aya to Yohji warily.

Yohji just stared back at Aya and tugged off his other glove, shoving them both back into his coat pocket. "Schreient."

"Oh, hell," Ken said beside them, running both hands through his dark hair.

"No, just Neu," Yohji said, lip curling up in a humorless smile. "Didn't see Hel..." Aya's eyes narrowed dangerously. A strange tension filled the other man. Yohji found his attention focused almost completely on Aya as they engaged in a silent test of wills, while beside them Ken snorted in disgust.

"Yeah, well, join the club. Schon tried to off me while I was with my kids... the vindictive bitch." Aya flinched slightly, then folded his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze down at the floor. Conceding nothing, Yohji knew, but now lost in that odd, brooding realm of intense Aya-reserve that warded off everything... and everyone.

"In public?" Yohji said to Ken, raising an incredulous brow and glancing briefly at the ex-soccer player. Instead of snapping at Aya. Ken just shook his head in wary bemusement, frowning between the two of them. Aya stayed silent. Yohji had to forcibly restrain himself from reaching for Aya and shaking the man in frustration. Aya certainly wouldn't tolerate such a gesture in front of Ken - if he didn't just straight-out deck him for it. And there was something in the other man's stillness that bothered him. A distance... something wasn't right... no matter that they'd just fucked with wild abandon. He felt a flutter of alarm in his gut and forced himself to pay closer attention to Ken.

"She killed some poor slob of a truck driver... almost ran us over. I barely got the kids out of the way in time." There was raw outrage in Ken's voice as he slammed one fist into the other hand angrily. His soccer brats were important to him; they were innocents who had been put in danger simply because of Schon's grudge against Ken. And Schreient's grudge against Weiß. Yohji felt a surge of matching anger tempered by weary regret. There truly wasn't any hope for any of them to lead normal lives again. Not until all their enemies were dead. And maybe not even then...

He remembered dark eyes that had looked up at him with bewildered confusion. Not the eyes blank with lust, but the gentle eyes puzzled and disturbed by the familiarity of his presence. That kind of look couldn't be faked and looking back, Kyoko was so similar to Asuka in so many ways that his heart still ached. Yet Neu was another matter entirely. She'd honestly tried to kill him. Which woman was the real one? Could there be anything left of Asuka at all? He sighed inwardly, wishing he had the certainty of Ken's outrage. At least his own attack hadn't been public... there'd only been the mystery man with the paper airplane to witness him stupidly drop his guard.

"Hel..." Aya muttered, frowning.

Both Yohji and Ken looked at him in alarm and curiosity, but any questions died on their lips as they all heard the upstairs door open. Again. Ken turned toward the stairs, fists clenching at his sides, body tensing. Aya didn't move, apparently lost in his dark reverie. Yohji laughed softly to himself as he remembered Momoe-san's prediction and smiled grimly. She'd been right after all. They were all back now. He felt a sudden sharp urge for a cigarette and he dug inside his coat for the pack even as his stomach sank. Why _had_ Aya returned?

He stuck a cigarette between his lips with careful nonchalance and drawled, "Hundred yen says it's Omi." He held his lighter in his other hand, waiting.

Ken's head swiveled back toward him, brows rising. Light steps crossed the floor above and came without hesitation straight to the door at the top of the stairs, much as Ken had. The door opened and they all saw slender, bare legs clad in baggy white socks and impossibly clean sports shoes start down the steps. Yohji smirked and lit up, smugly pleased. Nobody else they knew wore shorts year-round. The kid had a freakishly warm metabolism, that was for sure.

Omi stopped on the final spiral, shocked surprise widening his navy blue eyes when he saw them standing near the foot of the stairs.

"Ken-kun! Yohji-kun! What are you doing here?"

"Omi," Ken said, a weary smile tugging at his mouth as he looked at the boy and shrugged. "It's kind of pathetic, really. We all just showed up."

"Yeah," Yohji said around his cigarette, the corner of his mouth turning up wryly. "It's not like we were invited or anything, but we might have been influenced by Persia's ghost. Or Momoe-san..." Wide blue eyes turned on him again, and Omi blinked in apparent surprise to find Aya standing beyond him.

"Aya-kun too," the boy breathed. He came slowly the rest of the way down the stairs, stopping beside Ken and looking each of them over eagerly, a wondering yet pleased look on his face. Genuine happiness at seeing them all again shown in his eyes. He was happy to be back with the only family he really had - his brother assassins. Yohji sighed deeply, held the cigarette between his fingers and blew out a stream of smoke. Poor kid. Omi's gaze skipped back to Yohji suddenly, locking on his blood-stained shirt and the boy frowned at him in concern, taking a half-step toward him.

"Yohji-kun! What happened to your neck?"

"Some girls are scary. Very, very scary," he said dryly, shifting his gaze back and watching Aya intently through the smoke of his cigarette. The red head lifted, a kind of hollow anguish was lurking in the violet eyes as they clearly skimmed right past his gaze to meet Omi's curious look instead. Omi beat Yohji to the obvious question. The question he'd been avoiding asking. He fingered his cigarette anxiously before drawing on it deeply once more.

"Aya-kun, if you're here, who's watching out for Aya-chan? Isn't she still in that hospital by the sea?"

"She was kidnapped." The low voice vibrated with pain and the violet eyes slid closed again, the pale face frozen. Yohji choked briefly on smoke, and the sinking feeling in his gut became a tearing ache. _Fuck._ He should have known. Stupid, stupid, Kudoh. When would he learn? He dropped his cigarette on the floor and crushed it out under his boot with a savage grind of his heel.

"What?" Ken cried. "Why would someone kidnap her? Wait... was it Schreient?"

"Schreient?!" Omi squeaked, glancing between them all in shock.

Aya lowered his head, frowning grimly, eyes still closed. "Most likely."

"Schreient is still active?" Omi said in astonishment. "But they all... died in the fire. Didn't they?"

"No such luck. 'Cause I swear I saw Schon at the park right before a truck tried to mow me down," Ken said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning at the floor angrily before he jerked his head at Yohji. "And Yohji fought Neu... that's how he got hurt."

"This is bad..." Omi began, tone worried, blue eyes shadowed as he glanced between the two of them.

"This is a sign of the growing chaos," a strange voice said quietly from the stairwell. "A great beast of darkness has begun to prowl openly. It's fell breath has already been felt in Japan. Now we shall have to endure the darkness once again - unless something is done." They all tensed, heads jerking up as they stared up at the top of the stairs. A man and a woman stood on the spiral, looking down at them with grave intensity. Somehow they'd entered the shop without any of them hearing. Yohji did a quick double take at the sight of the scar on the man's face.

"I know you," he blurted out, gaze narrowing as he remembered starlight, choking and a white paper airplane.

The dark-haired man nodded to him once in acknowledgement, a somber smile briefly crossing his face. He was an older man, handsome even with the scar, but with a kind of deep sadness lurking around his eyes. The woman was beautiful in a remote way, younger, her mid-length dark brown hair pinned up on her head, her dark eyes cool and watchful.

"Who the hell are you people? How'd you get in here?" Ken demanded, dropping into a defensive crouch and glaring up at them. Yohji folded his arms over his chest with apparent nonchalance, but it was a position that put his hand near the watch on his wrist. He mentally cursed the fact that he'd taken off his gloves again. This man had helped him once, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. Not with his past. That point had been driven home to him quite brutally last night.

"I am Botan of Kritiker," the man said, unfazed by their wary hostility. "This is Birman."

"Botan... Birman," Omi breathed, eyes wide in astonishment, a kind of respectful recognition racing swiftly over his expressive face. He gave the man and woman a short bow. Ken straightened up in surprise, glancing between the newcomers and Omi. Yohji relaxed his arms as well, no longer poised to go for his watch.

"Bombay," Botan acknowledged, nodding to the boy with equal respect as the pair continued their descent into the mission room. The four of them fell back, watching the two agents with wary care in spite of Omi's apparent recognition and confirmation of them as members of Kritiker. "This beast is merely a small branch of a much larger, powerful international organization. Their influence has been felt in Japan before, but now more of their attention has been focused here."

"You have heard of the recent kidnappings of young schoolgirls?" the woman said, her dark eyes glittering with intensity. Her soft voice was pleasantly husky and under the right conditions might even be incredibly sexy. But not here and now. Foreboding gripped him. "Kidnappings that end in burning deaths?"

Aya's breath hissed in sharply beside him. Yohji glanced at him, dismayed but not truly surprised to find that the swordsman's face had gone deathly pale and still, like ice, his hands fisted tightly at his sides. Obviously jumping to conclusions out of fear for his sister. Yohji wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him with words or contact, but couldn't. Not in front of others.

Besides, what had given him the stupid idea that he had the right to comfort Aya? That Aya would even welcome the attempt? The other man would most likely just smack his hand away and give him a shi-ne glare for his presumption.

Yohji shifted uneasily on his feet, feeling the sticky pull in his pants, and was reminded with shocking intensity of the intimacies he'd been sharing with Aya so gleefully not long before. Intimacies that seemed dreamlike and almost impossible now as he gazed at that stoic, frozen profile and anxiously wondered what kind of reckless plans were going through the other man's mind. Aya had never shared his true self with him - his fears, his concerns, his hopes - only his body. Yohji sucked in a sharp breath in sudden shock. The painful insight made his heart lurch and his guts roil, making him feel faintly ill. It just wasn't enough. He wanted more.

And he couldn't think about this now. Dared not. He wrenched his gaze away from Aya. Forced himself to pay attention to the room around him again.

"Yes," Omi said in reply to the Kritiker woman's question, his face anguished. "A girl at my school... this morning... Mika-chan..."

"These kidnappings and murders are but a cruel prelude. The chaos will only grow unless something is done to stop it. That is why we have been seeking you four," Birman continued, leveling her direct gaze on each of them in turn. "We wish to re-activate Weiß."

"What?" Ken snapped. Omi gasped. Aya stood silent, frozen, violet gaze locked on the woman.

Yohji snorted in disbelief. "Reactivate Weiß? You've got to be kidding!"

"No, you must listen," a familiar voice said from above. They all looked up at the stairs again.

"Manx!" Omi cried, a distinct note of relief in his tone as the red-haired woman slowly descended the stairs. Gone was her signature red and black suit, instead she wore a far more conservatively cut mauve business suit, plain but still stylish. She looked tired and her eyes were shadowed with concern under the straight-cut red bangs.

"Shit, we need to put a bell on that damn door," Yohji said, folding his arms over his chest in disgust and dropping into a pose of hip-shot annoyance. The woman Birman favored him with a narrow-eyed look of irritation. He ignored her.

"We're not Weiß any more," Ken snarled up at Manx.

"Deny it all you want," their former contact said, her tone heavy with sarcasm as she came slowly down the stairs, "but you are all in it already - as the recent attacks on you should have amply warned you. This dark organization is called Estet. They are far-flung, powerful and well-funded - and shrouded in the deepest secrecy. We know nothing about their leadership structure and have little data on the ultimate purpose of the organization itself. But it is certain that these kidnappings are part of their plans."

"Is Schreient involved?" The sharp question came from Aya.

"It is very likely," Manx said after a quick look at Birman. Yohji didn't miss the little exchange, and he was fairly certain the rest of them had caught it as well. Some kind of transfer of responsibility had taken place. Whether or not Manx was a willing party to that was another matter entirely. Persia was gone. And the buffer between Weiß and the rest of Kritiker was apparently gone now too. The true puppet masters had been revealed. "Reiji Takatori was the regional Estet leader. Since his fall they have been disorganized. But now their influence in Japan is rising again through groups like this. We must stamp them out now."

"Y-you're talking about a mission," Omi said, eyes wide.

"Us? No way!" Ken spat, an angry, desperate look on his face. The sentiment was echoed in Yohji's heart.

"Where is their hideout?" The question came from Aya. The three of them watched in stunned silence as an impassive Manx lifted up a slender hand, a folded piece of printout held out between two scarlet-tipped fingers.

"Here," she said neutrally. Aya stalked forward and snatched the paper from her hand. And then quickly vanished up the stairs without another word or look at anyone. Yohji felt almost as if he'd been kicked in the gut. He shivered, breath trapped in his throat, gaze locked on the top of the spiral stairwell. He was truly coming to loathe those steps. More shocking shit had happened on them during the last hour than he'd endured in the entire three years he'd been Weiß.

"Aya-kun," Omi said weakly, clearly distressed by Aya's reaction too. But for different reasons. Botan and Birman exchanged silent looks for a moment.

"Abyssinian has taken the mission. What about the rest of you?" Manx lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at them. Ken was staring after Aya, equally stunned it appeared.

"That's all the mission briefing we get?" Omi asked incredulously. Manx frowned but nodded. Unsettled, but determined. Omi sighed in dismay, blue eyes troubled as he glanced at both him and Ken.

These monsters were killing young girls horribly. Aya would go after them alone if he had to, it was clear, just on the slim chance that his sister might be one of those caught in these madmen's clutches. And no matter how much he wanted to, Yohji couldn't let the cold, pig-headed, arrogant bastard face that alone.

"I'm in," Yohji said grimly, working hard to conceal the helplessness and sense of deadly inevitability building inside him. Ken shot him a shocked look that faded swiftly into one dangerously close to pity. Yohji frowned at him, annoyed. He didn't need foot-in-mouth Hidaka feeling sorry for him, damn it.

Manx reached into her pocket and pulled out a second copy of the printout. She held it out between her fingers again, her face still impassive. At least she wasn't gloating. He couldn't have stood that.

Beside him, Omi was already nodding his agreement at Manx. But then it was clear the chibi had only been looking for an excuse to take out the dark beasts that had dared intrude into his life. Of them all, he'd seemed to have the hardest time adjusting to 'normal' life.

After scrubbing his hands hard over his face for a moment, clearly struggling with himself, Ken gave a weary, defeated nod. His gaze as he glanced at first Omi and then Yohji was bleak and panicked, like a drowning man's. _Weiß is swallowing us again,_ those desperate brown eyes said. _They're making us killers again._

Is this all we are?

Is this all we can ever be?

Shaking his head to try and rid it of Ken's imagined thoughts - or where they his own? - Yohji reached out and took the paper from Manx's hand. And it felt like far more than a simple piece of paper in his hand. He could almost hear the bars of the cage slam closed behind him once more.

He was back in Weiß. Trapped in a life of killing that promised to be nothing but brutal and short.

Yet Aya had walked willingly and knowingly into the cage before him. And the only thing he could do was follow.

You stupid fool, Yohji thought to himself bitterly as he opened the paper and quickly scanned the scant information there, only dimly aware of Omi leaning over his shoulder to do the same. When you gonna learn?

No, he never would learn.

Because he just kept falling in love...

* * * * *
    
    
    What kind of love is this that keeps me hanging on  
       despite everything it's doing to me,  
    What is this love that keeps me coming back for more  
       when it will only end in misery...
    
    Circle - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Yohji Kudoh sat slumped in a straight-backed kitchen chair facing the back door, half-burned cigarette dangling between two long fingers, lean legs propped crossed over each other on the chair beside him. His head lay rolled against the back of the chair, eyes closed behind obscuring sunglasses. There was a half-empty bottle of chilled vodka on the table in front of him, the glass still weeping slightly with condensation. A shot glass with a tiny layer of clear fluid on the bottom sat near a saucer filled with several cigarette butts.

The kitchen was gloomy and shadowed in the latest hours of the night. Illumination came only from the floodlight in the alley out back, spilling watery and dim through the small window over the sink. Outside the rain could still be heard falling. Heavy and steady.

Waiting up for someone else. It wasn't something he was accustomed to doing.

Cursing under his breath, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth. Took a deep drag. Staring at the gleaming rivulets of water tracking down the window, he remembered his first promise of the night. He'd have to make doubly sure they stocked catnip again. Damn it. The old woman had been right. They were all back.

Smoke trailed from his lips in a steady stream. It drifted up to hang with the low cloud that had already collected by the ceiling, stagnant and trapped in the humid room. Trapped. As he was in this life once more. Florist by day, assassin by night. Sucked back in by sin and consequence and his distinct weakness for a certain single-minded red-head.

It was strange how his skills hadn't faded at all after three months of disuse. All on his own, he had managed to hunt down, trap and kill one of their targets earlier that evening. With thoughts of the six helpless young girls tied to poles with kerosene-soaked kindling piled beneath them ready to be lit filling his mind, it had been alarmingly easy. Any final hesitation had fallen away at the arc of a lighter tossed deliberately down by a callous creature who hid behind a mask, the action accompanied by a triumphant, mocking laugh. Doubt vanished in the flash of cardboard and broken wood as the tinder ignited. He had heard Omi's sharp gasp of dismay before the boy called out his schoolmate's name and raced to her rescue. Seen the frozen rage on Aya's face as he too raced for the shadowy stage in that dilapidated old theater, desperate to see if his sister was among the captured girls.

She hadn't been. So where had the stubborn bastard gone?

These targets had been easy to eliminate. There was no question of guilt. These dark beasts had been caught in the act of violence and Weiß had ensured they would never do such hideous things again. He was well aware of the hypocrisy of his thoughts. To the public's eye, he would be seen as little different than the ones he had hunted, even though he knew he only killed those who killed.

Yet as long as he could make the crucial differentiation in his mind – that tiny salve to what remained of his youthful morality and idealism – it was bearable. He only killed because they killed. He killed the guilty. The criminals. Those who had taken innocent life, or aided those who had. It was a fine line he walked even in his own mind, because it meant he had to trust the ones who supplied them with information and directed them in their hunts. Persia, once. But now Kritiker.

And that trust… it was gone.

Omi still believed Kritiker because the organization had supported Persia. Manx and Persia had been all Omi knew, had been his world. But Persia was dead, lost to his vendetta against the corrupt empire his brother had tried to create. And Manx… Well, with time and distance Yohji had finally deciphered the odd look he had occasionally caught glimpses of in Manx's eyes. Manx too had served for Persia's sake, out of love. And a love for Omi who was now all she had left. She had been terrified for the boy, knowing it was only a matter of time before Persia's end became his own. So she had hidden them from Kritiker, he had realized once he was on his own and the long weeks slipped by without contact. She had let them all go – not just Aya – on that fateful day three months ago.

But now they were back. Returned on their own to this life of darkness and killing. Fear made a powerful motivator. The situation had gone far beyond irony. They were killers who were afraid to die. Releasing a short, sharp laugh, he picked up the bottle, tipped it over the glass again, filling it half way. He carried the glass to his lips with a steady hand and shot back the harsh liquor without even a wince, feeling the familiar burn of it down his throat.

Or was it simply that they were afraid to die alone? Un-mourned? Unloved? Wasn't that every man's fear?

He debated pouring another shot. Not that liquor really helped. There was only one thing now that made any part of this life bearable. A determined touch, a pair of intent eyes, a mouth that scarcely ever smiled; all pieces of the dangerous whole that had drawn him back here, fool that he was. Yohji held the empty shot glass up toward the window in front of him, examining dim, shattered rays of light through the base. His sunglasses tinted each star-like burst green and rendered the room even darker.

Where the hell was Aya? Something stirred uneasily in his gut. A foreboding.

After the mission, they had split up, as per standard operating procedure for missions inside the city. Each of them to return to base after a reasonable amount of time spent ensuring there were no witnesses to their departure from the site or anyone following them. Omi had arrived at the Koneko first and gone immediately downstairs to his computer. The kid was probably still checking it out with loving thoroughness before filing the final mission report. Yohji had left him alone to his techno-babble hours ago.

Everyone's favorite Yohji Kudoh had been the second one to return. The two new Kritiker agents had shown up soon after his own arrival, even before Ken or Aya had made their way back to the flower shop. Botan and Birman had warned Omi that they would return with a new mission the next day and had taken a verbal de-briefing from the two Weiß present less than an hour after their first mission was completed. The benefit was that someone from Kritiker would soon tip the police to the kidnapped girls' location – after making certain no evidence of Weiß remained. Keeping everything neat and tidy.

But another mission? With the blood from the last barely dry, their masters were already eager to use them again. Sick distress filled him. More sin and death. Once more they were tools to be used for whatever purpose their masters chose. At risk of death every time. Omi and Ken. Himself. Aya. But what could he do? They'd all come back of their own free will, right? He stubbed his cigarette out in the saucer with a vicious twist, then started, head whipping around at the sound of the back door opening. He turned so quickly his glasses slid down his nose. He didn't bother to push them up as he surged to his feet, glaring over them.

"It's about fucking time," he hissed at the dripping shape as it paused in the doorway. Aya. At last. "Ken made it back hours ago. You coulda called at least. I know you remember the damn number."

The trench-coat covered form stepped into the room, closing the door carefully behind it. A water-darkened head lifted. Eyes gleamed faintly from beneath ragged trails of hair plastered over a washed-out face. Yohji took one long step closer then froze as the chin lifted and the lips tightened warningly.

"I can't do this," Aya said quietly, his voice low and steady.

"Can't do what?" Yohji said, fighting the burning in his gut. The foreboding was back, redoubled and mixed now with tendrils of outright fear. To combat it, he drew his sunglasses off, folding the arms closed carefully before laying them on the table beside him as he waited for Aya to break the silence again.

Then bloodless lips formed words he dreaded. "My focus… She has to come first. I'm leaving Weiß."

He was across the room and had slammed the slender shape against the door before the words had even finished registering. Leaving… Yohji loomed over Aya, using his greater height and weight to keep him trapped. He had one gloved hand pinned between their bodies in the corner, the other held in a steely grasp. The sword hand; he could feel the slender wrist bones shift in a way that must be painful under his grip, yet Aya gave no sign of it. Breath came fast and hard, whistling between clenched teeth as he glared down into the pinched, angry face next to his.

"Coward," he hissed. Aya bucked and twisted beneath him, almost succeeding in throwing him off. But he jammed him back against the corner, shoulder pressed into Aya's collarbone hard enough to make his own bones ache before Aya stilled again, expression smoothing from fury to blank calm in an instant. Apparently conceding – but he wasn't fooled. Yohji knew he was just waiting for his chance. Biding his time. The stubborn bastard.

He could feel the dampness of Aya's coat seeping into his shirt; he shivered at the definite chill on his flesh where it was exposed by the tight shirt that barely touched the top of hip-hugging pants. The leather coat was sodden with water, thoroughly soaked. Had Aya been standing out in the rain all this time?

"Get off," Aya ordered him, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. The pale flesh beneath looked almost bruised with exhaustion, even darker than before. Concern surged in him despite his annoyance. Why? Yohji moaned to himself in furious dismay. Why did he want this man so? He was a high-maintenance pain in the ass. Prickly with pride; cold and deadly and infuriating. But so alluring… both mentally and physically. The fleeting moments when the hidden inner man was revealed made all the effort worthwhile. Not to mention the positively volcanic sex. Fresh memory from the mission room earlier that night raced through him, reminding him of his fears.

"Like hell."

Yohji bent down and sealed his mouth over the other man's. Cold. Aya's lips were cold, his skin wet from the rain. The swordsman resisted him for long minutes, stubbornly keeping his mouth closed against the skillful assault. Anger flared briefly at the lack of response, but Yohji simply persisted, running his tongue along the seam of Aya's mouth, nipping at the curve of his lower lip with careful teeth. He worked one hand up – not stupid enough to release Aya's sword arm – and cupped the narrow chin, lifting Aya's head the better to angle his mouth over the other man's. Caressing, teasing, tasting. Cold lips warmed quickly, swollen and heated by his onslaught. Until he could feel a slow response building in the body pinned beneath his own. A reluctant softening. Aya's mouth trembled briefly. Tightened, then relaxed, until finally, with a short groan, Aya parted his lips. Surrendering.

Yohji pulled instantly away, breathing harsh and heavy as he glared down into hooded eyes. He held Aya's face immobile in his hand, his fingers almost dark against the deathly pale flesh.

"You started this. But I mean to finish it. And it won't be with you walking away from me again." He looked steadily into violet eyes, feeling the hitched breathing of the other man. "You did that once – never again, Ran."

Aya started violently at the use of his real name, almost as if he had forgotten the truth had been shared. A faint flush touched the too-pale cheeks. Not anger. Something that was almost revealed by the flickering of his gaze. Fear?

"Don't use that name."

Yohji leaned close again, letting his breath fan deliberately over damp cheeks. Aya shivered involuntarily. "Oh, you're right. The only name I'm supposed to know you by is 'Aya'. But that's your sister's name, isn't it?"

Aya went suddenly still against him, breath held for an instant.

"Be very careful, Kudoh." The upturned face stiffened into an icy mask. A clear warning. But he wasn't one to heed warnings for long – if at all.

"Why?" he said, the word carried out on a dry chuckle. Lids lifted sharply and he was fixed with a narrow, nearly shi-ne glare, the effect somewhat spoiled by the still swollen and softly parted lips below. "You're pissed already… and why don't you want to talk about her? She's why you came back, isn't she? Because you need Kritiker's resources to find her… Isn't that the only reason you came back, Aya?"

"My sister…"

He gave the chin in his hand a tight shake, cutting off whatever Aya was going to say. He wasn't quite finished yet. He snorted in exasperation at the stubborn, angry expression shadowing the other man's face.

"Would it kill you to ask for my help?"

Aya's eyes closed and he went utterly and completely still. Yohji could feel the brittle tension grow in his body. An air of dangerous wariness. He sighed, then loosened his grip on Aya's chin enough to stroke his thumb gently across Aya's lower lip. It was still soft and damp and warm despite the forbidding stillness of the face around it.

Yohji lowered his voice to a husky murmur, entranced by that contrast. "Well, you said it yourself – only actions have meaning. So why don't you tell me what it means that you practically demanded I fuck you earlier, Aya?"

Silence met this pause too. The closed eyelids flickered, lashes dancing on shadowed skin. The flesh under his hand had warmed to his touch, but the rest of Aya was encased in a barrier of cold and chill. Like his heart. Was he just waiting to be warmed? Stripped and tended to, like at the safehouse? The idea stirred things in him he'd thought long crippled, softened his voice more than he wanted.

"It doesn't have to be like this, Aya," he whispered, a tremor passing through him. "You already let me inside your body, now let me…"

"Stop it!" The wrist twisted violently against his grasp even as the form under him arched away from the wall, writhing, trying to escape once more. But from the words or from himself? Yohji leaned into Aya, taking full, ruthless advantage of his superior height again. He snarled and slammed the fist trapped with his own against the door behind them, making glass and wood rattle violently. Yohji squeezed the jaw in his hand brutally hard once more, forcing Aya's head up and back against the corner, making him choke and gasp a bit at the sharpness of the move.

"God, you're stubborn!"

"Back off!"

"Stubborn… and predictable. Like hell I will," Yohji muttered as he mastered the surge of frustrated rage Aya's brief fight provoked. Jaw working under the implacable grip, Aya glared death at him, eyes gleaming like dark amethyst in the scant light. He was panting from the brief struggle, lips parted, face finally touched with color. Feral and beautiful. Yohji let a knowing grin tease at his mouth and slowly lowered his own lids over his eyes as he watched the other man, noting the sudden clench of teeth and desperate flare of nostrils as Aya registered his amusement.

"Do you know how goddamn sexy you look right now? How good you feel against me?" Yohji said, voice lowered to a low purr as he stared intently at Aya's mouth. Reddened and faintly puffy from his earlier attentions, it encouraged him to lean closer, to add dangerously, "Are you too sore, baby?"

Surprised shock raced across Aya's face, followed quickly by outrage.

"Oversexed bastard. Are you trying to wear me out?" Aya hissed furiously, chin jerking against his fingers. This time he relaxed his grasp, letting Aya break that hold, in favor of cupping his hand around the flushed cheek instead. Yohji laughed softly, delighted by Aya's unconscious slip. Laughed longer at the puzzled, annoyed confusion that swept into the amethyst eyes, softening them to violet again, the hard sheen of distance broken. He hadn't realized what his words implied yet. But he would.

"You're soaked, you know. The coat's like ice." Taking a half-step back, Yohji let his hand trail down Aya's face to the high buckled collar of his trench coat. Aya watched him warily, still struggling to regain his cool reserve.

"It's not happening again."

He pursed his lips and tilted his head considering. "You don't think so?"

"Yohji… I'm tired…"

He laughed again, more of a knowing chuckle this time. "Oh, now that was just lame, Aya," he said with a wave of his free hand. "You'll have to do much better than that to convince me you don't want me. Actions, you know."

A quick hand came up. Shoved him back hard. But he had kept his firm hold on the other wrist and the reaction just sent both of them stumbling away from the wall further into the kitchen, toward the hall beyond. A furious scowl bloomed on Aya's face as he tried to twist his wrist free and failed, Yohji anticipating and moving with him.

"Upstairs?" Yohji grinned wolfishly at the fuming red-head as he quickly regained his balance. "You know, that's a good idea. I made my bed earlier and turned on the heat… It should be nice and warm up there."

Aya averted his face. "I'm going to my room. Alone."

Yohji simply shook his head in patient amusement and gave a yank on the imprisoned wrist. Aya stumbled awkwardly against him and he unerringly captured the shorter man's mouth for a brief, teasing kiss. Then he stepped away, freeing him completely and raising both hands palms out in front of his chest to show it. Aya's hand hung in the air between them for a few seconds too long before he yanked it back, glaring.

Yohji grinned at him knowingly, pleased. "After you."

Aya spun abruptly and stalked for the hallway, his coat swaying in that distinctive way that said the sheathed katana was concealed in the long tails. After a moment's mental debate, Yohji followed. Armed, definitely. But he hadn't reached for the weapon at all yet. Yohji allowed himself a small smile of triumph.

By the time he reached the stairs, Aya was halfway up. He lengthened his own stride, but even taking them two at a time he couldn't catch up before Aya vanished around the corner at the top. But once he reached the first floor himself, he came to an abrupt halt. Aya was frozen at the base of the next flight, boot on a step, hand on the railing, looking over his shoulder. Damp hair still stuck to pale skin, his expression weary and haunted.

"The door's open," Yohji said, his own expression carefully neutral as he nodded toward his apartment.

Aya stiffened, eyes closing. Yohji walked past him without making any attempt to touch him. Went to his door and opened it wide. Stood aside. Waited, grimly aware that he was holding his breath.

After a long, torturous silence, Aya finally drew his foot away from the step. Pivoted slowly and came back. Walked past him into the dimly lit apartment. Not daring to smile now, though relief and elation filled him, Yohji followed him inside and closed the door behind them both.

Light fell in a soft ring around the bedside lamp. It was warm in his room. Doubly glad that he'd thought that far ahead when he returned earlier, he moved forward, slowly circling Aya until he stopped in front of him. Devouring him with his eyes.

Aya stood wearily, the faintest slump rounding his shoulders. As if it had taken the last dregs of his energy simply to walk inside Yohji's room – to give in to what they both knew he wanted, but that his pride wouldn't let him admit to without struggle. His eyes were closed, his face tilted down and away. Silently, Yohji raised his hands to the buckles of the burgundy leather coat and tugged them open one after the other.

"It's okay, baby," he whispered when the job was half done, torn by the aching silence, by Aya's passive compliance.

"No." Aya's low voice was hollow and resigned.

"No, it isn't," he agreed with a sigh as he struggled against the last few stubborn, water-logged straps to draw the coat open. "But with you in my bed it's close enough. Damn, this thing is completely soaked, Aya. Did you have to stand out there all night? Leather's never the same after it gets wet like this, you know."

Fussing over the coat distracted him from the tightness at the back of his throat.

The rain-darkened red head lifted, and he could see the glitter of Aya's gaze on him as he worked, could see the curve of his lip, the suspiciously fast pulse-beat in the hollow of his neck illuminated by the faint light. Yohji felt the weight of something he had named to himself once earlier and didn't dare name again drag at him. He had no luck with that emotion. To linger on it would only invite disaster.

"I missed you," Aya breathed.

His hands froze in the act of drawing the sodden coat off lean shoulders. Yohji stared down into Aya's somber eyes in shock. The water-heavy leather suddenly slipped down Aya's arms to land on the floor behind them with a dull thump, but neither of them moved. He wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe anymore, gaze lost in violet depths. A hollow ringing had started in his ears in time with the pounding of his blood.

Lids flickered down over slowly darkening eyes, hiding the raw exposure in them from him and breaking the brief trance. But before Yohji could do more than draw an unsteady breath, floundering in an effort to find something to say that wouldn't make him sound the complete fool or shatter the fragile moment beyond repair, damp gloves skimmed over the strip of bare skin at his waist, making him shudder once as unpracticed arms slowly encircled him. Taking a half step forward, Aya bent his head under Yohji's chin and awkwardly pressed himself close. Snapping further out of his daze, Yohji carefully folded Aya in his arms in return, hands fisting briefly against the narrow back as he resisted the urge to crush him close, flatting his hands out to hold him gently instead. They fit together perfectly. His throat ached with everything he didn't dare say as he rested his cheek against damp red hair.

"Aya…"

"I'm tired, Yohji."

"Come to bed, baby," he whispered thickly. "Come to bed with me."

He felt a deep trembling begin in the lean body in his arms, chilled by the damp clothes now that the close weight of the coat had been removed despite the warmth of the room. After a few more heartbeats he drew back, leaving Aya to the privacy of his downcast face for the moment, his hands brisk and efficient as he stripped off the other man's clothes. Sweatshirt, boots, pants were soon tossed aside until Aya stood in his underwear alone, shivering; sleek and ivory-pale and incredibly beautiful in the soft amber light. Yohji felt his blood throb in his veins, slow and urgent, as he let himself devour the sight. After an awed moment of perusal, he tugged Aya over to the bed, urging him down and under the blankets for warmth. Aya went, passive and compliant just as he had been on that night three months ago in the safehouse, his eyes following Yohji's every move.

Yohji undressed himself with similar efficiency, wasting no time in removing everything. Boots clattered on the floor. His heavy belt buckle landed with a harsh ringing sound when it struck against the hilt of Aya's katana where it protruded from the bunched and sodden coat. He kicked at the pile half-heartedly to get it out of the way as he stripped his tight pants off. Finally, his erection bounced free of his underwear, already weeping at the tip. With a deliberate look at the silently watching Aya, he reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Took out a tube of lubricant and placed it on the bed within easy reach. Leaning over, he folded the blankets back, exposing Aya once more. Pale and perfect against the wine-dark sheets. He raked his gaze over him, letting his desire show at last. Slow, hot, hungry.

"Lose the underwear."

Pale hands complied with his order, sliding the scant fabric down and away from a matching erection. Yohji knelt on the bed beside Aya, taking over to draw the underwear down over strong legs, lifting each foot with gentle care to free it before tossing the cloth aside. He trailed a hand up one calf, gaze rising to catch Aya's once more. Aya licked his lips, chest rising and falling deeply.

"Spread your legs."

The red head tipped back further against the pillow, eyelids drooping to veil glittering eyes, lips parting to allow soft panting breaths to escape as Aya slowly spread his legs, drawing his knees up to flatten them further. Exposing himself completely. Yohji stared down at pale skin dusted faintly with red-brown hair, at a cock that flexed under his gaze, already dripping a silvery thread of pre-come from the end. His breath caught, then sped up.

"Tell me you want this."

"I want it." He shuddered at the words uttered without hesitation in Aya's low, rich voice, eyes closing tight for an instant. Opening them again he climbed all the way onto the bed, easing himself between the spread legs. He knelt there feeling the other man's skin warm against his own, aware of the deep tremors shaking the muscles that framed him. He picked up the tube of lubricant, leaning forward to reach it.

Aya ran his hands down his own narrow hips and along bunching thighs until they brushed against Yohji's hips, stopping there to clutch at him. Holding him, not letting him shift away, watching him intently from slitted eyes.

Stifling a groan, Yohji flipped the cap on the tube. Squeezed out a generous blob onto his fingers before tossing the tube on the floor. Then he reached down, shifting Aya's erection and drawn-up scrotum aside enough to brush slick gel over the sleek skin and hole beneath. Aya's breath sucked in and his hips rolled back, giving him easier access. He gently circled the puckered flesh of Aya's ass, pushing in on it with slick fingers just enough to coat the innermost edge. Teasing and testing, he paused, holding his hand still against the spot, feeling the pulse of slowly relaxing flesh. Suddenly impatient, Aya gave a choked moan and lean hips thrust up against his fingers, forcing them in. He let him, pulse throbbing as Aya slowly impaled himself on his fingers, urging them further and further inside his own body with each careful undulation until they were both in past the second knuckle. Swallowing hard, Yohji turned his hand slowly, watching as Aya arched up, crying out as he pressed down on Yohji's fingers, legs trembling.

"Oh, god, baby," Yohji groaned, biting at his lower lip to try to contain himself as his own hips surged in response, cock jerking and leaking glistening trails of pre-come over them both. If he didn't keep control of himself this would be over before it started and that definitely wasn't in his plans. He slowly pulled his fingers away to the heady sound of Aya's soft moans of disappointment. Reached back and briskly stroked the remaining gel over his own erection.

Aya's hands slid up his sides to his back, drawing him down with determined strength. Leaning forward, one hand braced beside Aya's chest, Yohji carefully guided himself into willing flesh, pressing past the first ring of natural resistance slowly. Amid urgent pants and moans, the pale body lifted to meet him, hips rolling even further back when lifted by strong legs. Yohji slid deep inside Aya in one long stroke, eyes closed, teeth clenched at the glorious heat and incredible tightness. Held himself still once he was fully seated, to keep from coming, yet was almost disastrously distracted by the mewling sounds of need Aya made as he shifted beneath him. He lowered his full weight onto the other man in an effort to control his reactions, bracing himself on his elbows. Aya just groaned deeper, wrapping arms and legs around him tightly, hands tangling in his hair, ankles crossing over Yohji's lean butt. They lay suspended like that for a long moment, both of them breathing harshly, each feeling the other's pulse pound like thunder.

A fraction of control restored, Yohji looked down at the man below him; at the opened mouth, the bruised-looking eyelids, the soft flush on neck and chest. Aching inside, he skimmed his fingertips over the faint bruises he could already see rising on the fair skin of Aya's chin. Found himself torn between the equally strong urge to either soothe them or to put more on that pale flesh… just to prove that he could. That he could make a lasting impact on the other man. His own thoughts disturbed him. He didn't truly want to hurt Aya. He just wanted him… body and soul.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Give me everything."

The red head tossed against the dark pillowcase, eyes still closed. "Yohji…"

He could feel the denial coming in the sudden tension of Aya's body. He rocked his hips quickly back then pressed deep inside Aya again, seeking and striking the place that made reason flee. Aya cried out, shivering and panting. Even white teeth clamped on a lip, abruptly cutting off the cry. So he did it again. Over and over. Thrusting deep and steady and slow, breaking down resistance until the man beneath him was writhing and twisting in abandon, groaning helplessly with each thrust, eyes squeezed tightly closed, his cock a twitching length trapped between their bellies.

"Faster!"

"No."

Aya groaned and his head thrashed wildly as if he were in torment. Strong hands clenched like vises on Yohji's shoulders. Fingernails dug painfully into his skin in time with his thrusts. Yohji didn't care. He only cared that Aya was breaking in his arms. Surrendering to pleasure.

"Faster… move faster…"

The other man's voice now little more than a broken gasp. He groaned and plunged deep again, still moving slow. Savoring every inch. Aya's body was hot and slick and pulsing around him, straining his control, his focus, but not severing it.

"All of you, Aya… I want everything."

On his next thrust in, strong legs tightened around Yohji's hips, driving him deep and holding him there. Aya arched up, arms trembling as he pressed his chest against him, and buried his face against Yohji's throat.

"This is just… flesh… a body…" He could feel hot breath on his skin, the scrape of teeth and the wet warmth of a tongue under his ear. His heart quailed and argued with his body over Aya's harsh words, appalled. But the dispute was settled in an instant as desire deemed a demand enough for now.

"Is it mine?"

"Yes. Fuck me… god… harder…"

Enflamed by these words, he reared back, bracing himself awkwardly on one hand, reaching between them to grasp Aya's erection even as he rolled his hips forward, driving in hard. Aya let himself fall back, arms clinging to Yohji's shoulders, chin raised and pale throat exposed, as his face went face slack with ecstasy.

He stroked Aya in time with his own thrusts, felt the surging pulse of him, felt and heard the sudden hitching gasp of breath that preceded the deep wordless cry as Aya spurted over his hand and both their bodies in a hot stream. Yohji let himself go then. Slamming in over and over again until finally freezing with his body pressed as tightly to Aya's as he could go. Then coming hard in a flash of fire and relief that nearly blacked out his mind.

Yohji rolled to the side, collapsing across the bed, dragging Aya with him in an awkward tangle of limbs as he panted desperately for breath. Aya lay limp against him, body loose and relaxed in completion, but he could still feel his heart pounding wildly in the chest pressed to his own. Sticky heat welded their bellies together. With a smug smile that he couldn't suppress and would be just as glad if Aya didn't catch sight of, he wound one hand in silky-damp hair and tucked Aya's head under his chin. The other man settled there with only a quiet murmur.

They lay entwined in silence for a while as bodies cooled and pulses slowed. Finally a faint shiver from the man in his arms made him shift them to the side with a reluctant groan, before tugging the blankets back over them both. That much movement pulled his cock out of Aya's body to the accompaniment of a soft hiss of dismay from them both.

Unlike earlier, there was no inopportune teammate's arrival to interrupt the afterglow. Aya was making no attempt to move away from him at all, limp and relaxed. Yohji's fingers stroked through Aya's hair, lightly tracing the shape of his skull beneath. He felt Aya's breathing slow gradually to normal in time with his own, felt the occasional flex of a hand against his skin, the slow slide of a lean leg shifting position between his own for comfort. Aya lay sprawled across him, sweaty-warm now and far heavier than the blankets, all the hard masculine angles of his body poking at him awkwardly. Yet this moment was as close to perfect bliss as he'd ever felt in his life.

"…should clean up," he murmured, his voice a groggy blur. Aya just grunted, not caring about the drying mess that practically glued them together, already more than half asleep.

It had been a long night of stress, activity and anguish, but now he had Aya in his arms again. Little else mattered. And with that thought, Yohji slid into slumber, stubbornly burying the nagging knowledge the next day would not be nearly so kind.

* * * * *

Aya Fujimiya stood before a tall, smooth marble pillar inscribed with his family name, hands thrust deep into the pockets of the long duster he wore. Violet eyes stared blankly at the sticks of incense he had lit and placed in the niches carved in the stone for just such a purpose. The sea glittered far below the high hill on which the cemetery stood. Morning sun shown bright and warm on his bent head. The sky above was crystal-clear and brilliant blue in the just-washed way that came in spring after a hard rain. Sakura bloomed behind him, pink and fragrant and delicate, a few petals flying free from the branches to flutter on the wandering sea breeze that circled lazily around him. A breeze that tugged the scent of cherry blossoms and incense away from him, finally carrying it inland toward the city.

After an endless, silent while, he closed his eyes. Not in prayer. He'd long ago given up on the gods and beliefs of his childhood. But simply to block out the sight of those cold characters carved into unforgiving stone. Three names. His mother's. His father's. His own. Cold characters that summarized everything he had lost and reminded him painfully of just how much he still had left to lose.

His sister was still missing. Kidnapped for reasons not completely clear. Revenge had seemed the obvious motive, but now he wasn't so certain. Schreient should have sent him some message beyond the simple slashing of her bed. If their only goal was to make him suffer for the death of Masafume Takatori, then taunts would be the way to ensure this. And while he had assumed it was Schreient who had taken her, there were other shadowy enemies out there that still bore him malice. Schwartz, for one, who boasted both a telepath and a man who could read flashes of the future in their ranks. Schwartz who had turned against Reiji Takatori at the end, leaving him to die on Aya's sword. They were dangerous and deadly in battle, yet capricious and mysterious in their purposes.

It was his fault she was in danger, had been taken away. For seeking revenge. For killing in her name… He was just a murderer. Foul and damned, his soul steeped in blood. He didn't deserve tenderness or mercy… didn't deserve the short peace he'd found last night… didn't even deserve to live… yet she needed him to live on despite the pain of it… to save her… no one else… She had no one and he deserved no one… but this life of pain was so wearying, except when he was with…

The wind changed direction again, fluttering green silk against his legs, tossing the longer strands of hair into his face and sending more sakura petals swirling over his shoulder. It also brought with it the sharp scent of cigarette smoke.

He stiffened slightly and frowned. Then lifted his head enough to glance back from the corner of his eye, becoming aware of a silent presence waiting behind him. Ah. He had even more to lose now. The one that he recognized by the sudden ache in his heart who had become nearly as precious to him as his sister's life.

But while his sister was innocent and helpless and in need of his protection, this other was not. And that left him confused and uncertain how to proceed, both states of mind that he was unaccustomed to enduring for long periods of time.

He turned from the family marker to face the small rise behind him. Lifted his face to where the tall man lounged against the trunk of one of the many cherry trees planted around the cemetery, dusty-blond hair gone almost honey-colored in the dappled sunlight that came through the branches, cigarette dangling carelessly from his hand.

"So that's where it went," Yohji said gruffly, narrowed gaze fixed on him over the tops of sunglasses that had already slipped down his nose, a faintly annoyed look on the angular face as he raked his gaze over the green duster that Aya wore.

"How did you find this place?"

"C'h," the other man said, straightening away from the tree with languid grace, a small smile on his lips. "I was a detective, remember?" He came down the hill toward him slowly, lifting the cigarette to his mouth once more to draw deeply on it before sending a long stream of smoke out to vanish into the wind. He gave a slightly broader smile, accompanied by a seemingly careless toss of his head to shake the wind-tugged bangs out of his face. "Actually, I just followed the secure data link in your car. You're in range again."

"Hn." He turned back to face the graves, listening to the other man's unhurried approach across the hard-packed grass and stone path.

"'Ran Fujimiya, Beloved Brother'," Yohji read from behind his left shoulder, then gave a humorless laugh. "Must be strange to stand in front of your own grave like this, ne? I haven't been to visit mine… though Manx told me it's respectable. Doesn't seem fitting, does it? You know, someday I think I'd like to have a party on top of mine; fine wine, a cigar, a little sex…"

The idea chilled him. His voice was sharp as a result as he cut the drawling voice off. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

"Why?"

Silence stretched for a long moment, broken only by the distant sound of surf from far below and the occasional cry of a bird. Petals fluttered around them, falling down in the suddenly still air.

"There's a mission."

Lost as he was in the lingering grasp of his own dark thoughts and fears he almost missed the curiously flat tone of the other man's voice. Would have missed it if he wasn't so sensitized to the sound of Yohji's voice now after months of absence. He turned his head alone, not shifting his body, and looked straight into hooded green eyes.

"I told you, I'm leaving Weiß."

The green eyes narrowed further. The dusty-blond head shook ever so faintly, then canted back toward a small grove of pine trees behind them as he dropped his cigarette to the ground, casually crushing it out under his foot. Not turning, he narrowed his gaze on Yohji in sudden comprehension. They were being observed. His hands fisted at his sides.

"Hey, Aya, I thought we worked that out last night, didn't we? You need the organization to help you find her." There was a kind of irritated warning in the other man's tone. A caution. "I overslept, so you left the shop this morning before I could tell you Birman would be by today. Guess Omi missed you too." Green eyes flashed at him now with definite annoyance. He had woken early and deliberately slipped out of Yohji's room without waking him, having been reminded with painfully intensity the night before that his will around the other man was dangerously weak. He had needed time alone to gather his thoughts. Because he needed all his will focused on finding his sister.

Yohji spoke normally, his voice loud enough that someone close by could hear it. If they were trying. "You should stop by and see the tape. Omi has it."

Aya frowned, still facing him, and mouthed a single word. "Who?"

Yohji frowned back at him briefly and answered the same way, the warning sharper in his eye. "Botan." Then added, louder. "We should talk."

Aya turned away from his family marker amid a swirl of green silk coat. Walked quickly to the far side of the cemetery where there were no trees or heavy plantings nearby on the edge of the cliff that looked out over the sea far below. Aware with every step of Yohji's presence behind him, like a tingling along his nerves. An ornate fence kept the unwary from danger. He stopped half a pace away from it and gazed out toward the sea, oblivious to the beauty of the view.

"What is it?" he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yohji sighed, stepping up and leaning both arms on the silvered, weathered wood of the fence in front of them, eyes narrowed and trained on the distant horizon as well. Useless sunglasses were perched low on his nose. From this angle, Aya didn't even have to turn to see the sharply handsome face and he found himself staring at thoughtfully pursed lips – remembering suddenly just exactly what delight they could impart when pressed to his flesh – rather than at the sea.

"They won't let you go again, Aya," Yohji said. And he started at the stark resignation in the other man's tone. Who wouldn't let him go?, his subversive heart wanted to know, aching. He tore his gaze away from Yohji's mouth to stare at the sea beyond, retreating into cool remoteness.

"Hn. They have nothing to hold over me this time."

"Get real. I know you aren't that blind, Aya. You're just not thinking clearly because you scared the shit out of yourself again last night."

He stiffened, voice chilling as he glared venom at the other man. "You're mistaken."

"Oh, I don't think so, baby." The low, knowing words sent a flash of heat through him, eyes widening briefly in shock before he mastered his body's reaction by drawing hard on the protective ice that had served him well for so long. Strangely it seemed more brittle than before. Fragile, as if something had been wearing it away.

The blond head turned slightly toward him and a wry smile flashed, tinged with amused patience. Aya yanked his gaze away from Yohji once more and stared out to sea again. His response apparently warranted a soft laugh that ran over his nerves like the scrape of nails, stinging slightly. He lifted his chin, mouth pressed in a thin line of disapproval and warning.

Yohji laughed softly again, voice lowering to a husky murmur. "Oh, I don't think you realize just how much I want to kiss you senseless whenever you get like this…"

He stiffened, painfully aware of the hidden watcher and the public location.

"Don't worry. I'm not stupid enough to hand them ammunition like that. We have a major problem, Aya. Actually, you have two of them, but your problems are mine now too, seems like," Yohji said, still watching him. He could feel the weight of that green gaze on his skin, almost like a brushing of fingers, possessive and arousing. A kind of desperation flared in his thoughts behind the definite stirrings of desire, followed by anger. He didn't want to feel this way. Couldn't afford to feel this way.

"Get to the point."

"Kritiker isn't Persia, Aya. You saw how Manx deferred to them. I think the days when we could turn down missions we didn't like are over. These people are professional and organized and serious. Somehow they lost track of us after Takatori went down but we walked right back into their control yesterday." Yohji's voice was grim now, all traces of humor gone. "They'll use us until we're dead. They won't let you leave again, Aya."

Icy rage made him silent. Rage because he could sense Yohji was right and in his blind need, he'd bound himself again to the very thing he'd hated the most – the endless killing. And ice because for his sister, he knew, he'd kill again. To find her. To get her back. To keep her safe.

After a long moment of mutual silence he finally spoke. "Why do you think that?"

With a sigh, Yohji reached into his coat and took out his pack of cigarettes. Shook one out and lit it with brisk efficiency behind a cupped hand. Acrid smoke trailed back into Aya's face, making his eyes sting briefly. He shook his head tightly in annoyance, glaring at the other man.

"Botan and Birman were practically waiting for us to return last night," Yohji finally said, waving the freshly lit cigarette for emphasis. "And they have another mission lined out for us already. That was quick work on their part, don't you think? Like they've just been waiting for us to resurface…"

"You don't believe this Estet threat is real."

There was a snort from the other man as he took a deep drag on the cigarette before speaking again. "Oh, I believe it – Takatori had to have someone international backing him. I'm just not convinced Kritiker's telling us everything. But the truth is, Aya, we're just tools, and tools don't need to know everything." He turned to pierce Aya with a narrow, concerned stare. "Dead men like us have no rights, and besides, we're assassins. There's damn few places we can turn to get away from them. And they know it."

"They don't want to make me their enemy," Aya said, his voice frozen and deadly. Yohji met his narrow glare steadily. And that was something he'd always privately admired about Yohji. No matter how thick the ice or how lethal the rage that gripped him, the other man had never backed down from him. Treated him with wary respect or infuriatingly flippant anger, but he'd never backed down. It was why, against all reason, he felt he could trust him. Why he could surrender to him. Why he…

"No, they don't," Yohji said quietly, a matching hardness entering his gaze. "That's why they'll keep dangling rumors about your sister in front of you to keep you doing what they want."

Aya had to fight to keep from snarling at the idea, eyes narrowed to slits of rage, hands fisted tightly at his sides. He remembered the careful way Manx had skirted his questions when delivering the mission briefing last night. How she skillfully let him reach his own conclusions about the kidnappings as they related to his sister. Then remembered how their formerly arrogant handler had deferred almost blatantly to the other two agents.

"The really suck part about it is that they're probably our best hope for finding her."

"What are you saying?" he snapped, even though the truth was plain to him now too. And he was bitterly furious at the manipulation, at Kritiker's presumption. This wasn't quite the same organization he'd always known, been trained by, worked with. He knew none of these new agents, save Manx, who was now clearly almost powerless. Persia had been more influential than he'd realized. The man's ideals had colored everything Kritiker did in Japan. Then it struck him. 'Our'? Yohji's word choice made something inside him weaken with unaccustomed warmth.

"I'm saying that we don't have much of a choice. Kritiker's the kind of organization that can actually dig up the information we need. They have sources of data and contacts we can only dream about. And they'll only share that if we keep working for them."

Yohji leaned forward, bracing his arms on the fence again as he stared out to sea, smoking in silence for a moment, a grim tightness appearing around his mouth. While Aya's mind whirled, lost in implication, in longing.

"Of course, that also means they can't find out about us…"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he spat. A spurt of raw fear raced through him, setting his body to trembling faintly, blanking his mind with the sudden, unwelcome emotion. Was this a brush off? And why did it matter now when he'd been prepared to do the exact same thing himself last night? But he hadn't been able to. Had instead surrendered again… to Yohji…

"Hey, calm down a second and just think about it, Aya." A green gaze burned into his own, anxiety and entreaty buried under the intensity. Yohji lifted the hand with the cigarette in it and took a deep, deliberately casual drag. Still playing to their hidden audience. If there really was one… but no, he'd sensed the other presence. "All they'd have to do is put one of us in a cage…"

The chilling realization that someone could take Yohji away from him just to manipulate him – and that it would succeed – shocked through Aya and he nearly choked on bitter rage. Could barely endure it… here was another thing precious to him threatened by his sin-filled life, his selfish actions, his failings. It ate at him. Because the one thing that had given him any peace at all now made him vulnerable. Both of them. Ignoring it or denying it wouldn't make the risk go away.

"Ken and Omi know," he finally managed to say, voice strained. Acknowledgement and an attempt to deal all wrapped into the fewest words possible. Any more and his control would break.

Yohji sighed, hung his head slightly as he flicked ash off the end of his cigarette. "So we have a spat. Break up. It was just a fling, ne? Then you can go back to being anti-social… and me… I can go back to being a playboy. Ken'll be relieved; Omi can stop pretending he hasn't noticed."

Aya glared at him savagely as a sick, twisting feeling that he didn't want to examine rose in his gut. Yohji had apparently considered this for a while. Thought the risks out. Confused and raw inside, it seemed to him that Yohji was entirely too calm about this answer. Too controlled. Pretense? Or truth?

"Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why take me to your bed last night?"

Silence. Thick and tense and sharp. It felt as if they teetered on some kind of edge. A precipice almost as daunting as the cliff just beyond.

"You're willing to kill for her again, right?" Aya stiffened, still glaring at him. Yohji looked over his shoulder at him, met his gaze steadily as something dark and deep and wild was revealed briefly in his eyes. "Well, I'm willing to kill for you, Aya."

Heat flared; his pulse leaped even as his breath caught in his throat, and he knew Yohji could see the answering pledge in his eyes. He'd kill for him too. Without thought or hesitation. And he longed, desperately, to step forward and press himself to that lean body. To wrap his arms around the other man as he had done last night and feel his heartbeat steady against his own. To taste him again, ashy, bitter and foul. Yohji. His.

"No matter how long it takes, Aya," Yohji continued, green eyes bright with determination and lust but the look on his face unusually solemn and stern. "Once we find your sister, we're going to find a way to get free… to be together…"

He stared at the other man, heart pounding with urgent heat and an answering determination. Yohji straightened up from the fence, eyes lowered to hide the desire there from their observer, yet Aya could feel it snapping in the air between them. Longing. Lust. Need.

Yohji took a last shaky drag on his cigarette before pitching it over the edge of the cliff. "Shit, Aya, don't look at me like that," he groaned. "I've gotta leave now, baby, or we'll blow this right here. I've already agreed to the next mission so I think Botan'll hang around for you."

"I'm not making it easy for them," he snarled, defiant in his own way. Furious at the necessity that was forcing him to give up what he wanted. What he needed… Green silk – Yohji's duster, now his – fluttered around him in the rising breeze.

Yohji smiled tightly back at him, amused, his eyes shadowed with yearning sadness as he turned to go, lanky frame hunching slightly as he thrust his hands in his pockets and drew his own coat about himself. They would have to be apart for now. But someday… someday…

"Give 'em hell, baby."

\- - fin - -


	7. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this story is incomplete...  
>  last updated 5/12/04

* * * * *
    
    
    I have so much to lose, here in this lonely place  
    Tangled up in our embrace, there's nothing I'd like better than to fall  
    But I fear, I have nothing to give  
    I have so much to lose...
    
    Fear - Sarah McLachlan

* * * * *

Yohji Kudoh stood on the sidewalk outside the Koneko, a sturdy green apron tied around his waist over his sleek-fitting clothes. After a few minutes of effort, he stopped the desultory sweeping he had been doing, stretched luxuriously, then leaned negligently on the long-handled broom to look down the mostly empty street. A lit cigarette dangled precariously from his lips as he tilted his head back slowly, sunglasses set firmly in place over closed eyes. Sunlight fell full upon him on this warm spring morning, but he shivered. Memories of bitter rain, a wind-swept cliff and lonely necessity chilled him.

Which was worse? he wondered bleakly, raising a hand to lift the cigarette from his mouth and blow out a slow stream of smoke. Separation with no hope of reconciliation? Or was it worse to have what one most desperately wanted just within reach but unable to have it? He sighed. The verdict was still out on just which of those won as the more exquisite form of emotional torment, he thought wearily, but 'just within reach' had the agony advantage for now. Especially since he was currently living it.

He hadn't had a moment alone with Aya since that day in the cemetery over two weeks ago. He'd known it was the only real way to protect them both, but knowing it and having to live it were two entirely different things.

He could hear Ken clattering around behind him near the shop entrance, hauling the cast-iron display rack out onto the sidewalk in front of the picture window preparatory to setting up buckets of their freshest cut flowers and pots of herbs. Soon to be followed, no doubt, by a fussing Omi who would shift and twitch everything into the most attractive display possible. As if selling flowers were every bit as critical as the work they did in the dark of night. Or even in broad daylight, now, he mused grimly, remembering again the sickening smell of burning human flesh.

Suddenly, his cigarette didn't taste so good. He pitched it into the gutter, only half-smoked. Just like the last one.

They'd stopped that dangerous group of self-righteous lunatics from burning Tokyo to the ground with their hyper-accelerant, but it seemed as if every day brought news of another sicko killing seemingly at random; a man had gone berserk and killed eight people at a golf course with a nine iron, there had been a recent horrifyingly brutal string of murders of Christian clergy all over the city, kids were going insane every other day in the streets and killing themselves. Assaults, robbery and random violence were cropping up with alarming frequency everywhere. The news called it the inevitable result of moral decay in these modern times. People were beginning to watch each other suspiciously in the streets. The police were nearly overwhelmed, helpless to stem the flow of violence. Even with the Self Defense Force moving around the country internally trying to help reinforce local order, it was as if something foul had begun to eat away at the very heart of Japan. Reiji Takatori's bloody legacy.

But it seemed somehow worse than when Reiji Takatori had made his move because now there was no one man and his greedy ambition to blame it on, just dozens of horrific, seemingly unrelated incidents piling one upon the other in an ever-growing tide of blood. The country was going swiftly to hell again and Weiß was stuck right in the middle of it without a clear target. They stumbled about at Kritiker's direction, trying to find and stop each set of brutal freaks - but more just appeared to fill the gap - all while they desperately sought information on the shadowy groups they suspected were behind it all; Schreient, Schwarz, Estet.

"Ano... excuse me, Yohji-san..." A high, girlish voice dragged him back from his dark musings, snapping the old, familiar habits back into place. A charming smile was crossing his lips even before he pushed his sunglasses high up onto his head, holding his hair back with rakish style. Then he looked down into concerned pale blue eyes and firmly stifled an annoyed sigh.

"Ah, Sakura," he said as brightly as he could. The dark-haired girl looked up at him with such clear hope and happiness shining on her face that he almost groaned.

"Yohji-san, I'm so sorry to disturb you..."

"That's all right, my dear," he said, wincing inwardly at his own words. He sounded like an old uncle. Where the hell had his charm gone? Even for Sakura he should be able to muster something better than that. To cover his own disquiet, he pulled the pack out of his apron pocket and took his time lighting a fresh cigarette as Sakura fidgeted beside him.

"Can I ask you if Aya-san is working this morning?" Demurely lowered eyes flashed briefly up at him. A slight flush raced over girlish cheeks. "I was just on my way to school and thought maybe I could talk to him for a few minutes again today." His stomach churned with barely-suppressed jealousy and possessive rage. Ah, yes. _That_ was where his charm had gone.

Yohji drew heavily on his cigarette, hiding an unhappy frown even as he did what he knew he had to do. "Yeah, I think he's working back in the greenhouse."

"Oh, thank you, Yohji-san!" The school-girl tripped past him without another look, her yellow uniform sweater glowing in the morning light, her short hair bouncing back when she gave a pleased toss of her head as she went in search of her idol.

He watched her go, eyes narrowing dangerously as he abruptly flipped his sunglasses back down over his eyes. The girl called out a cheerful greeting to both Omi and Momoe-san once inside, pausing to crouch and pet Momoe-san's fat cat briefly. But she couldn't be diverted from her goal for long. And all too soon, he saw her disappear through the back door into the greenhouse.

"Hey, Yohji! That sidewalk isn't sweeping itself you know," Ken called, looking up with a rather smug look on his face for finally manhandling the display into place. That was the main reason why they kept darling Kenken around - Yohji thought uncharitably while still glaring into the interior of the shop after the departed girl - for the nasty brute jobs like that.

Continuing to verbally ignore his teammate's words, Yohji stood and smoked furiously, free hand clenched hard around the handle of the broom. Telling himself he couldn't just kill the little bitch when she came out at last. Not in the middle of the street anyway.

"Hey, was that Sakura who just went out back?" Ken asked, piling buckets of flowers haphazardly on the rack.

"Yeah. Stopped off on her way to school. Again."

Ken frowned at him, scratching at the back of his head in obvious puzzlement. "Isn't her school the other direction from here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it is, Kenken. How astute of you."

Ken went silent and he was hopeful that the soccer player had picked up on the icy undertone to his voice and would just let the subject go like a bad pass. But it was not to be. Instead, Ken came out to where he stood.

Ken shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Hey, uh, Yohji, I've been meaning to ask you..."

He turned his head slightly, pinning Ken with a narrow glare over the top of his slipped glasses. Ken's eyes widened briefly in alarmed surprise for the savagery of his look, but even as he flushed, he scowled right back at him, obviously getting his back up.

"Shit, what the hell is _your_ problem lately?" Ken fumed. "Fuck! _Aya's_ showing more personality than you do now."

"I don't have a problem, Kenken," Yohji drawled, letting his lip curve slightly in a feral smile. "It's your imagination."

Ken glared back at him, dark eyes snapping with the temper that was far too near the surface these days. "That's crap. When we came back... two weeks ago... you and Aya..."

"It's over." Yohji's voice was sharp and cold, hoping to cut off any further discussion of that topic. He shoved his sunglasses back up his nose to cover his eyes and tossed this cigarette on the ground too, crushing it out firmly under the toe of his boot this time. Wishing it was something else he was crushing instead. Like school-girl hopes... No. They'd agreed it was a perfect distraction. But he'd never thought seeing Sakura practically glow after each time she spoke to Aya would be so tough to take. Aya was _his_ , damn it.

What a joke this was turning out to be. He had been the one to tell Aya they would have to go back to the roles of sullenly silent brooder and shiftless playboy to throw Kritiker off the scent of their involvement. He just hadn't expected they'd somehow end up swapping roles like this. It was annoying and just damn humiliating - particularly since it had been so effective. There had been no official inquiries about their past association, no suspicions voiced to either of them. And while Kritiker normally discouraged their agents from having ongoing relationships - especially with outsiders - so far their masters had made no attempt to order Aya to drive Sakura away. And that in itself was slightly worrying. It felt almost like a test, of sorts...

However, the one agent they had both been most wary of - Botan - had conveniently gotten himself killed on their second mission back. Their new handler, the icy-cool Birman, had grilled them endlessly about the incident. But she'd been unable to find fault with them over it - even Aya, who had been the only one present at the time. Botan had rushed recklessly in to confront the targets when he should have left the mission to Weiß. She had hardly been able to accuse Aya of killing the man by carelessness since he'd been wounded himself facing five targets armed only with a length of iron pipe. Going up against automatic weapons in the open in broad daylight wasn't their usual mode of operation, either. Botan had made a bad choice - and Aya was damn lucky to be alive himself, Yohji knew. But if _he_ had been just a fraction slower with the wire on that fool with the Uzi... Yohji shuddered at the memory, tamping down the remembered fear and rage with determination. Aya was fine now; his arm was healing clean. He just had to remember that.

After a moment he realized that Ken still stood beside him, staring at him. He glanced at him, surprised by the confusion and disappointment he caught a glimpse of in Ken's gaze before it darted away.

"What?"

Ken shot him an unreadable look. "Over?"

"What's this, Kenken, looking to make a move on him yourself now?"

Ken flushed brightly even as his brows furrowed in a stormy frown. "No! God damn it, Yohji, do you have to say shit like that? No, I just thought... you two seemed sorta... happier, then... I dunno..."

Behind his glasses Yohji blinked once in astonishment, then swiftly gathered his composure. Time to build their defense, even with Ken.

"Aya's stressed over his sister."

"Yeah. So?" Ken's flat look bothered him. Why was Ken pestering him about this? Ken was about as perceptive as a brick at times. But once something actually penetrated that sports-obsessed brain of his then it could be hell to dislodge. Lucky him that he'd somehow fixed on his and Aya's relationship.

"So it was fun while it lasted, Ken," he said, forcing himself to shrug casually and wave his hand languidly through the air. "But that's all it was. He's no fun now that he's got other things on his mind and I was getting anxious to get back to the clubs. Can't disappoint all the lovely ladies of Tokyo now that everyone's favorite Yohji Kudoh is back from Nagoya, can I?"

Ken didn't look away this time. And if anything his frown grew deeper. "You didn't see anyone but him for more than a month, Yohji. I've never seen you do that before."

"Kinda awkward to run around on a teammate, don't you think, Kenken? Particularly one with a penchant for long, sharp things and a notoriously short temper." He forced a careless laugh.

The other man actually flinched. And for a moment it seemed as if Ken somehow thought he'd lost something himself at those casual words; as if something fragile had been damaged or taken away from him. Yohji felt a pang of remorse, even though he wasn't quite certain what for - just that he had the strangest feeling he'd somehow failed in Ken's eyes. And not in a way he was used to failing; lazy, complaining, womanizing Yohji. It was as if Ken's last hope had been shattered.

"So it wasn't real..." he thought he heard Ken say, but the words were blurred by the rumble of a delivery truck moving down the street beside them. Yohji just shrugged again. He saw an older, plainly-dressed foreign woman in a floppy sun hat walking down the sidewalk toward them, her eyes already fixed on the buckets of flowers Ken had just finished setting out. A customer. A _female_ customer.

In no mood to flirt for the moment, Yohji moved toward the door of the shop, broom in hand. It had been long enough since Sakura had gone in the back to see Aya. It wouldn't be too note-worthy now if he suddenly had to get something out of the greenhouse, he decided. Yohji passed into the relative darkness of the shop, leaving the still-brooding Ken standing on the sidewalk outside to greet the approaching customer alone.

When he walked inside, he found Omi urgently gathering up a few cellophane-wrapped bouquets in his arms, his school satchel and his helmet already in his hands, a harried look on his face. Momoe-san sat in her chair, rocking gently and beaming at the boy. The fat cat sat on the floor beside her, watching the proceedings through half-closed eyes. Looking uncannily like his mistress in that regard. All knowing, all seeing. And always watching.

"Yohji-kun, I'll make these deliveries on the way to school today," Omi said brightly, turning toward the back door and juggling the awkward armload deftly. "For having no-one actually come into the shop this morning, we are certainly busy today! There are three more delivery orders on the bench for you to make up already. Oh, and when Sakura-san leaves, be sure to tell Aya-kun that the Yukimura reception flowers need to be finalized today. Okay? I'm going!"

Then, in a whirl of blond hair and the slam of a door, he was gone. Yohji stood in the sudden silence beside the rough wooden table surrounded by four equally rustic chairs that served as their central counter and frowned after the boy. He glanced briefly at the closed door to the greenhouse, nerves taut, gaze narrowed. Found himself straining for any sound, almost as if he thought he might actually be able to overhear Aya's conversation with Sakura from here. After a moment, the soft creaking of the rocking chair was lost beneath a rusty chucking sound. It made him glance toward Momoe-san warily. The fat cat had moved into her lap and was looking as if it had never moved from the spot. Her gnarled fingers were stroking it's back gently; a tiny smile shown on her face.

"Such busy kittens! Day and night. Life is short - for the young it is even shorter. It's miraculous you all are, to manage so much, so well. One has to wonder how long you can keep up with the strain before something breaks," the old lady said, her head tilting back to pin Yohji with a surprisingly sharp gaze for a moment. "Or some _one_ does..."

He forced a smile, meeting her gaze for an instant before sweeping her an elegant, exaggerated Western-style bow despite the surge of unease her words prompted. He'd never underestimate her again; she'd known they'd all return to the Koneko and Weiß, and return they had. "Ah, but with you here to watch over us, how can we go wrong, obaasan?"

Innocuous enough words, on the surface. He made certain to say them in a teasing tone and smile warmly at her. But despite his effort, her steady gaze stayed locked with his, startling him. Usually she retreated into the doting, half-senile grandmother routine immediately; their live-in spy for Kritiker. "When one sees a chance for happiness, one should not waste it," she said softly, an odd light flickering though her normally unreadable eyes for a moment. Almost... warm. "As you should know better than any other, my kitten, how seldom those chances come around again in this life."

Stricken, he could only stare at her. What the hell did she mean? Did she know about...? But before he could gather his wits, the moment was broken when the door to the greenhouse opened and Sakura came out, her face shining with happiness. She cast a last dreamy-eyed look over her shoulder, clutching her bookbag tightly to her chest with one arm as she slowly closed the door behind herself. She rested her forehead against the closed door for a moment, heaving a deep, contented kind of sigh. Then she turned into the shop, starting violently when she finally noticed Yohji standing not three feet away from her, frowning at her darkly. He couldn't help it.

"Oh! Yohji-san, you startled me... wh-where's Omi-san?"

"On his way to school," Yohji said shortly, his gut churning almost painfully at the sight of her. The girl was entirely too pleased with herself. After talking to Aya. Happy. Practically fucking glowing, even. "Shouldn't you be too?"

Startled, Sakura glanced down at her wristwatch, jumped. "I'm late! Oh no! Thank you, Yohji-san, for reminding me. I guess I just lost track of time..." She broke off with a nervous laugh and another melting glance back toward the greenhouse door. Yohji felt his jaw pop as his teeth ground together. "I'll be going now! 'Bye!" And after a last hasty bow, Sakura dashed out of the shop, the door chime ringing merrily behind her.

He heard the sound of Momoe-san's rusty laughter again. Still seething, he cast her a narrow look over his shoulder.

She was shaking her head back and forth slowly, not even looking at him now, but instead was smiling down at her cat as she gently scratched it's ears. The fat thing looked to be in bliss, paws folded under it's chest, eyes closed, chin tipped up.

"What one does not witness with one's own eyes cannot be confirmed, can it? The day is slow, my kitten," she said calmly, looking as harmless as it was possible for an old woman with a cat on her lap to look as she smiled up at him now. "Turn the television to my channel, before you go in the back to work on those orders Omi told you about, will you?"

He could scarcely believe his ears. If he wasn't mistaken, he had just been given oblique permission by Momoe-san to do as he wished with Aya... as long as they weren't 'seen' by her. Dazed, mind whirling with the implications, he reached up and turned on the bawdy, overly melodramatic American soap opera that she followed faithfully on one of the satellite channels. In English. Without subtitles.

There was a great deal he didn't understand about Momoe-san. Two years he'd lived as Weiß in her presence and she hadn't betrayed him yet - or any of them. Not even when faced with Takatori's violent minions and their automatic weapons. Nothing that had happened in the shop or in the shared rooms behind it had ever been passed on to Kritiker. That he knew of. But this was so much more important than the possible security breech bringing dates back to the Koneko to fuck in the mission room had been. Manx, when she had been their handler, had had little compunction about pointing out his own shortcomings to him - as back in the early days when he came to mission briefings drunk or blatantly hungover. Or missed them all together, having already gone out to bar-hop. But the stern reprimands and docking of pay had always only come for things Manx witnessed for herself, not things passed along by Momoe-san.

Kritiker would have likely done away with him long ago if she had, he realized suddenly.

No, he didn't understand Momoe-san's real purpose here. He was certain he never would. But he trusted her, he realized, as he moved toward the greenhouse door in the corner and paused with his hand on the doorknob to glance back at her, a pleased grin on his lips. She was watching him, smiling faintly, her head bobbing encouragingly. He grinned back at her, wider, truly grateful, then opened the door and stepped through.

No, he wouldn't let this opportunity slip by him, no matter how reckless it was. As she had said, Fate was seldom kind enough to let these kinds of chances come again... especially for him.

* * * * *

Aya glanced up from his work as the door to the shop opened again and frowned. It wasn't Sakura again, was it? he thought in annoyance. He'd had more than enough of the girl for one day. The feeling didn't fade when he saw that it was Yohji who had entered the humid warmth of the greenhouse instead. He barely stifled an exasperated sigh. Still, he wasn't surprised to see that the other man's face was clouded with wary irritation as well.

Sakura had that effect on the both of them, it seemed.

Yohji stalked over to where Aya was re-potting several chrysanthemum seedlings and nearly threw himself back against the bench with a low grunt, dragging his sunglasses off his face and tossing them on the bench beside him before folding his arms over his chest. Aya continued to work on the seedlings mechanically, trying to focus his mind on the menial task. Seeing Sakura always left him feeling vaguely unsettled; regret, anguish and fear churned through his system. The physical resemblance between that girl and his precious sister was eerily close. But she wasn't his sister - and every time she opened her mouth that was made painfully obvious.

It didn't help his irritation that Yohji was leaning close enough to him that he could catch the faint scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to him. His loose blond hair looked tumbled and untidy, as if he - or someone else - had run their fingers through it a few times. The thought made his stomach clench - with relief, of course, for the evidence that Yohji had finally returned to his former sluttish ways. It was necessary to protect them both. They had to keep up the act. And Yohji had been strangely reluctant to do so over the course of the last few weeks, even though Aya was doing his best with Sakura. Yohji's reluctance was making this harder than it had to be. It was annoying... distracting... like the man himself, standing so close... Still, Aya stubbornly resisted the impulse to move further away from the other man. It was childish to let Yohji's mere presence affect him. He, at least, was working. Yohji was just loafing.

"She was here quite a while today."

The comment was almost spat out, so abrupt it had been. "Hn."

"You kiss her yet?" He just shot Yohji a brief, narrow glare, and there was an edge to Yohji's tone when he went on. "Well, she certainly _looked_ like you had. She practically floated out of here, all flushed and glowing..."

Aya's hands stilled in dark soil, fingers clenching around the clay rim of the pot. "As part of our _cover_ , I asked her if she was free for coffee tomorrow."

Yohji's silence was brittle and dark, and seemed to loom like a thundercloud in the glassed-in room. But when it broke it was only with an annoyed snort that made Aya feel oddly off-balance.

"A date, huh?"

Aya swiveled his head slightly, glancing at Yohji from the corners of his eyes. Startled, wary. The other man was still leaning back against the bench beside him with determined nonchalance, arms folded. But he could feel the leashed tension radiating from that tall, lanky frame - the frustrated need and anger. They resonated within him as well.

"Don't," he said tightly.

"Don't what?"

"We agreed."

A lean, tanned hand shot out and caught his chin, tilting his face up so that their gazes met directly. He made no attempt to pull away, staring steadily back into angry green eyes.

"I need to fuck you again," Yohji said in a low undertone.

No matter how softly spoken, the raw heat in those words made the bottom drop out of Aya's stomach as if he'd suddenly stepped into a deep hole; his blood began to throb in his veins as his cock swelled in his pants. Too late, he closed his eyes to hide as much of his reaction as he could from the other man. Because he wanted it too. Badly. Wanted to taste Yohji again. Feel his body against his, inside his... He fought back a groan and forced himself to say what he had to, his voice deliberately cool and even, "We're not doing this, Yohji."

Yohji's fingers seemed to burn against the skin of his jaw, his chin. He tried to bury the feeling in ice, needing some way to control his rebellious body as Yohji spoke again, voice low and hushed. "It's been two weeks, Aya. Botan's long gone."

Mention of the dead agent helped strengthen his resolve. He opened his eyes again, confident that the ice could hide his need now. "He knew. About us."

"Knew? Or just suspected?" Yohji said, thumb sliding over the dip between chin and lower lip. The skin of his lips tingled in anticipation though Yohji hadn't touched him there yet. He fought the urge to lick them. Won.

Despite that small victory, his body still felt charged, his skin hyper-sensitive; he was aware of every flex of Yohji's body beside him as he leaned slowly toward him. The sway of his hair, the gleam of his eyes, the bitter scent of smoke that clung to him mixed inseparably with Yohji's own unique scent. Aware of everything about the other man despite the ruthless grip he had on his own reactions. He'd never noticed details like that before Yohji. The scents and motions and sounds of another. Every one of Yohji's was imprinted forever on his mind, on his senses. He blamed it on watching the other man from a distance for so long... on too many stolen kisses... on simply _craving_ him for so long...

But it was maddening how that awareness hadn't faded at all even after finally taking Yohji as his lover. Instead, it had only grown stronger. Until now, when they both knew how risky, how stupidly reckless it was to be near each other like this... Neither of them could resist. But he _had_ to. For both their sakes...

"He knew," Aya answered sharply to forestall the kiss that he knew could break down his defenses utterly. Yohji hesitated, watching him from under lowered brows, displeased. "And if he knew, it's very likely Kritiker knows."

"Maybe. If they do, then there's no point trying to hide it anymore, is there?" Yohji said softly, the anger in his gaze fading into something else... something even more dangerous. Desire.

"Aya." It was just his name - his borrowed name, even - but still his pulse leaped in response to that low plea.

This attitude was irresponsible, reckless. Maybe even deadly. They could still try to confuse Kritiker's analysts by continuing to avoid each other. He knew that. But still he wiped his loam-covered fingers clean on his apron before turning and stepping under Yohji's arm and against his body. Yohji's arms came around his shoulders without hesitation, drawing him close, and the other man slowly bent his head to bury his face against Aya's hair.

He felt a shudder run through the lean body against his as he slid his arms around Yohji's waist too, closing the final gap between them after a few seconds of hesitation. His final resistance abandoned. When he did so, it felt almost as if his body melted into Yohji's. So familiar. So welcome. Two weeks of denial felt like an eternity now.

Yohji sighed into his hair, voice low, caressing. "Oh, yes, baby. You are _so_ mine."

A touch of anger flared, fueled by pride. He stiffened in Yohji's arms, speaking just as softly as Yohji had - they swept the entire shop regularly for bugs, but one never quite knew - because even if Kritiker already knew about them, there were some things he didn't want them to hear directly.

"Fool," he hissed. "I had you first."

"Do you think that really matters between us?" Yohji whispered, arms tightening around him, hands spreading wide and warm over his back. "Mine. Yours. It's all the same in the end." Aya couldn't stop the soft snort for his choice of words. Yohji gave a rueful chuckle after a moment and shook his head. "Hell, you know what I mean."

He felt the faintest of smiles pass over his lips, fragile and fleeting. "Yes, I know what you mean. Yours. Mine."

Another tremor passed through Yohji and he was pressed even closer to the other man by unyielding arms. He could feel Yohji's hot erection firm against his thigh even through the heavy aprons they both wore. His own throbbed in his pants in answer.

It was stupid and crazy for them to give in like this, but then so was their whole situation. Florists. Legally dead men. Killers. Why not lovers? What did it mean any longer? Because no matter how he fought against it, denied it or tried to hide it, the reality was there were only two things that gave his life any purpose anymore - recovering his sister to see her safe and whole again, and his... need for Yohji.

He tilted his head back and stared into the longing, knowing eyes so near to his own and sighed, making a last attempt at reason. "We're going to have to stage a fight later on in front of Momoe-san and Ken, just to make it look good."

Yohji scowled. "No. I'm tired of pretending I don't want you every second of every day," Yohji said hotly, his words sending a ghost-like shiver of what might be foreboding through him. "I can't make it convincing anymore - particularly when you're encouraging that girl because of it. I couldn't even flirt with her..." He shook his head, falling silent, his expression dark and closed, unhappy.

"... with Sakura, you mean?"

"She's in love with you, Aya. It's cruel to build up her hopes like that." Yohji's eyes glittered faintly with anger.

"Yohji, we agreed..." he said with another short sigh, one quickly cut off when Yohji shook his head at him again sharply.

"I haven't started dating again. You _know_ that. And I know we agreed to go back to how we were before, but... I _can't_." The green gaze pinned him, intent and earnest. Heat surged through him and his breath caught before he forced his lungs to obey him. "Besides Momoe-san figured it out already. She even sent me back here to you with her blessing. Sort of."

Aya stared at him in surprise for a moment, the idea churning uneasily through his mind. Momoe-san was one of those constants that seemed to defy both explanation and true understanding. But the old Persia had placed her here. The guilt-ridden Shuichi Takatori. Could it be that she wasn't quite the blindly obedient watchdog they'd supposed her to be... or had that part of her duties simply died with Shuichi? Doubt swirled through him wildly, tangled with impossible hope. But he hid both behind sharp disbelief.

"How can you be certain?"

Yohji grinned more like his old self, reckless and charming, and Aya realized in a flash - and with more than a little shock - just how uncharacteristically grim and withdrawn Yohji had become lately. No longer the flirting, careless playboy... and not the persistent, driven, teasing lover he'd enjoyed so briefly either. Suffering. They were both suffering. And while something in him was perversely appeased by that, he realized most of him wanted the teasing lover back. But the risk... he still had to save Aya-chan from Schreient...

As images of disaster tormented him, Yohji leaned down and brushed soft lips over Aya's brow. He shivered once at the contact before controlling himself. Need surged dangerously against the hold he had on it. He was already wanting so much more than just the press of bodies. Wanting that light touch lower... on the lips that were already aching from the near-caress earlier. More touch... more of Yohji...

"She said that what she can't see she can't confirm," Yohji said, a hint of the old wicked promise still in his voice. "If we're careful..." Aya snorted doubtfully even as Yohji grinned down at him for a moment before sobering, his face going intent and still, his green eyes darkening. "She reminded me that new chances like this don't come around very often... and life is so short... Ran... for us..."

Before Yohji could spout more tempting nonsense, Aya reached up and wound his hand in the heavy dusty-blond hair on the other man's nape and tugged Yohji's face down toward his. He pressed their foreheads together briefly, eyes closing in torment at the other's nearness after so long... two weeks... _forever_ , damn it. Without even the solace of a drunken Yohji to 'help' up to his room in the small hours of the night this time... And the rest of his careful, so very logical, resistance crumbled before raw need.

"I want you," he said through a painfully tight throat, pulling back just enough to look directly into Yohji's eyes. He could see those skilled lips at the bottom edge of his vision, so close. His own parted in anticipation.

"God, we'll make it work somehow..." Yohji breathed out that needless reassurance with a groan against his face in the instant before those lips touched his. Covered his. Devouring and possessive. They tasted of salt and musk and tobacco. Of Yohji. He thrust his tongue forward eagerly, pressing it into Yohji's mouth. Savored the bitter, unique, precious taste of him. A low sound escaped him even as he slid his arms higher until his hands hooked over shoulders, and he drew himself even closer to the source of pleasure, eager and greedy.

After a long moment, Yohji was collapsing toward the floor, drawing him down with him. Sliding beneath the workbench onto the bare concrete floor littered with leaves and dirt and bits of ribbon. Fastidiousness flared briefly, but vanished in the endless moving heat of Yohji's mouth on his, the hand sliding up into his hair, fisting there.

Tactile sensation nearly overwhelmed him. Yohji's hands on him. Yohji's mouth on his. His breath. His heartbeat racing in time with his own. Aya was shaking like a junkie denied his fix but shown the needle. He needed him. Had to have him... He'd stalked Kudoh for long months without hope before, then indulged himself with him for a little more than one. Lost him forever for three. He'd somehow found the strength to push him away before... but now that he had him close again - he knew he couldn't let him go ever again. Not even to save both their lives... their futures... _his sister_...

He groaned into Yohji's mouth, accepting his own weakness, his own fatal flaw in the form of the man in his arms, who was even then shifting over him, spreading his thighs wide and drawing them up to frame his narrow hips. Then crushing him against the unyielding floor beneath his own angular body, cock to cock. Aching, hard and relentless. Like he'd crushed him into the trunk of his own car... filled him and shaped him, with each touch, each breath... by sword and by trust... through ecstasy... and blood...

He belonged with Yohji. Needed him. Without Yohji he was... less than human. A killing robot. A sham of a man. One too inhuman even to see the cruelty of using an innocent girl's feelings to save himself. Aya whimpered helplessly, overwhelmed. Until he was finally forced to wrench his mouth away from Yohji's just to gasp for air, head falling to the side as something trickled down the side of his face from beneath closed lids. Almost instantly, Yohji's mouth was there, smoothing the betraying wetness away with his lips after heating it with his hitching breaths.

"Aya... don't... oh god, baby..."

"Clothes off... fuck me... now... I need you _now_..." He all but sobbed the words out, hands clutching desperately at Yohji's back.

Somehow they scrambled up together. The look on Yohji's face pure need, his eyes half-lidded and gleaming, his wide mouth already swelling slightly from the force of their kisses. Aya wondered briefly if he looked even close to the same, but shoved the idea aside as Yohji's hands tore at the ties of his apron and he raised his own to do the same to Yohji's. He would have tossed the offending things away, but Yohji took them after carefully slipping the loop off over his head even as he stole another breath-stopping kiss from him, and spread them out on the cold concrete beside them.

While he did that, Aya tore at his own pants and toed off his shoes. Stripped pants and underwear and socks down his legs with reckless speed, his gaze fixed on the bulge beneath Yohji's zipper before it followed the long, clean line of his thigh and around to the curve of his tight, rounded ass. Utterly desirable. Utterly Yohji.

Yohji turned back to him, found him half-naked and staring at him and laughed softly, the sound more desire than mirth. He wrapped a hand around Aya's neck and kissed him again, guiding him, both of them shuffling awkwardly on their knees, over to the spread aprons.

"Where's the hand cream?" he asked huskily, knowing full well that Aya kept some at the flower arranging table to use after working with water and plant stems all day.

He groaned for the delay, hands catching at Yohji's hips. "Just take me..."

"No," Yohji said, voice sharp, hand clenching briefly with bruising force on his nape. "God, Aya, no martyr shit again. I want to pleasure you, baby, _and_ me... so let me... let me..." His mouth softened from the stern line it had briefly frozen in and met Aya's in a light, yet still searing, kiss. His mind spun and the budding guilt for angering Yohji vanished in a flood of heat.

Yohji released him and Aya groaned, sinking to his knees, resigned, but not truly disappointed, because this was Yohji too. Considerate. Thorough.

Yohji lurched to his feet, pausing to adjust his stiff cock in his pants briefly, while throwing a lascivious grin over his shoulder at Aya as he did so. Aya just watched him hungrily. Waiting with fisted hands resting on bare, spread thighs as Yohji groped around under the brightly colored spools of ribbon and cellophane until he found what he sought.

When Yohji turned around again, grinning in triumph, Aya moved. Catching those sharp hip bones in his hands briefly and drawing Yohji toward him a stumbling half-step before his seeking fingers found the zipper and button of the low-slung pants. Undid both of them to the sound of Yohji's hissed groan of pleasure. An eager hand cupped his head, tangled in his hair as he uncovered his own prize - Yohji's already dripping cock. He drew it out carefully, hard and red and glistening, and circled it with one hand, a thumb braced beneath the flaring head.

"This is what I want..." he said, looking up Yohji's body from beneath lowered lids. Yohji was watching him closely. Their gazes met. Heat and longing sizzled between them. He licked his lips once...

He had hand-to-hand skill of his own - could fight nearly anyone except that damn smirking American to at least a standstill with a katana in hand - but he couldn't recall later just exactly how he ended up back down on the floor, crouching over the spread aprons on his hands and knees, with Yohji bent over him and Yohji's long hair brushing against his neck as Yohji's lips worked their way down his spine and across one shoulder blade. All he knew was the dizzying feel of Yohji's knees spreading his from behind, Yohji's arms bracketing him securely. And the damp, hard prod of Yohji's cock between his thighs and against his taut scrotum.

His breath hissed out from between clenched teeth as his arms began to shake with eagerness and he lowered his head down toward the floor, bracing his hot face against his own folded arms.

"Slick me... do it... Yohji... now... get inside me... _now!"_

And Yohji's hand was doing that with the accursed cream, his low, soothing voice talking him through the first flinching chill. Aya could hear him, but only barely through the blood throbbing, loud and fast, in his ears. Fingers on him, teasing, then pushing inside him, slippery and cool and faintly stinging, but building the heat inside him. Building the need. Then withdrawing to his groans of disappointment, only to have those vanish into ones of raw, aching satisfaction as Yohji was pressing against him at last, hot and hard and relentless. Slipping inside the resistance of his body while still whispering to him, in soft words, pleas. But all he knew was Yohji's hard length filling him at last, again, forever and making him want to cry out in relief, forcing him to muffle the sound against his own skin by biting against the meat of his forearm.

Yohji's arm slid around his waist, preventing him from collapsing further, holding him up even as his cock pierced him, hard and deep, holding against the point inside him that always made him shudder and groan helplessly in pleasure. Sounds that he'd never normally make, ever - even from pain or torture - Yohji drew from him with ease. And he just didn't care.

Then Yohji was moving, sliding in him. Striking over and over against that same spot with unerring skill until Aya's mind blanked and his body shook, cock swaying hard and aching against nothing. Crying out for relief, for Yohji to touch him, to never stop. To never... stop... sobbing...

A warm, sure hand gripped him, stroked him in time with the thrusts inside him and after only a blissful few, he came in a great surging gasp, heat splattering against his knee, his body arching up, head thrown back, teeth bared in a silent snarl. Too overcome to make a sound, here at the end, save with the shuddering, desperate suck of air into starved lungs. Yohji moaned behind him, called his name, though he barely heard it for the rush of blood in his ears.

Yohji's hand stayed around his softening cock, holding him up to keep him from flopping embarrassingly even as Yohji himself continued to thrust toward his own release, his mouth open against Aya's shoulder, teeth raking him as breath washed hot and hard and frantic against his skin. The other's weight and pressure still welcome no matter his own sudden exhaustion. It took only a few more moments for Yohji to finish, surging deep, so deep that the air was driven from Aya's lungs in a gasp, holding there, both of them shuddering even as Aya felt the surge and clench of Yohji's balls against his ass, so deep was the other man inside him. He cried out at the feel of it, an answering, weak surge coming from his own in sympathy.

"Damn, Aya-love... so fucking _hot_..." Yohji groaned against his neck, sagging over him. Crushing him for a moment before he tilted them to the side and they fell over heavily and only partially atop the spread aprons. Cool concrete against his shoulder and arm made him shiver at first, but soon brought a little relief to his overheated body. Yohji's arms tightened around him, holding him close, his back welded to Yohji's sweaty chest, their bodies still joined there on the floor of the greenhouse, amid the dirt and debris of a florist's job. Fitting, somehow, to have bits of living things scattered around them this way.

"We'll make it work," Yohji said again, his mouth in the damp hair behind his ear. "I can't be without you any more..."

Aya let his eyes flutter open as Yohji's hand found his and laced their fingers together tightly enough to make his bones ache. He stared at the white knuckles of his own hand wound between Yohji's golden tan fingers.

"Yes. We will."

\- - to be continued - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...this story is incomplete...  
>  last updated 5/12/04


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